


Guilty by Association

by mtjester



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtjester/pseuds/mtjester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t listen to your shaking body.  You aim to break bones. She does the same. You’re both more ferocious than you were before, because, despite all your better judgment, this has somehow become about you.  You don’t want it to be about you.  You don’t want to feel like a monster.  You don’t want to feel responsible for this snarling creature before you. Fuck, where did you go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lights off

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavier than many of my other fics, so please pay attention to the tags.

Rufioh has a home game tonight, so you volunteer to clean out the animal cages in the biology classroom until kickoff.  Although you don’t really care about football, Rufioh is the school’s star running back and you do what you can to support him.  You also just like to spend time with the animals.  Your teacher has a rabbit, a snake, some gerbils, a few lizards, and a gigantic tarantula, and she’s been letting you feed, maintain, and play with them since you approached her as a freshman.  That was a year ago.  You find it frustrating that you have to take boring and difficult classes like math and English when your school offers so many great biology electives, but you’ll have to make do with your basic, entry-level biology class until you’re a junior.  Until then, you’re stuck cleaning cages.

You’re not really supposed to be here alone, but the teacher’s kid is apparently not feeling well, so she locked the door and propped it open for you to close when you leave. Most everyone else has left as well.  The school feels deserted.  You kind of like it when it’s this quiet.  You don’t have to worry about maneuvering your wheelchair around a bunch of rowdy teenagers, and you can practice your raps under your breath without anyone hearing. If you want to beat Dave Strider in a rap-off, you need all the practice you can get.

You’re washing your hands, stuck on a rhyme, when the lights in the room flicker off with an abrupt click. You look up.  Damara Megido stands silhouetted against the light in the hallway, hand on the handle of the door.  Her eyes are fixed on yours.  Your gut sinks, but you try not to let it show on your face. Damara is your best friend’s sister, the ex-girlfriend of your brother who, rumor has it, tried to run him over after she found him cheating.  Half the school believes it’s true, but Rufioh refuses to talk about it. You don’t really know what to think. She used to be so nice. Everyone talks about how nice she used to be.  But since your brother got together with Horuss, she’s changed enough to make the rumor seem almost plausible.  You don’t want to jump to conclusions.  You feel pretty terrible about the way your brother treated her, so if you can make up for it somehow, you’ll do your best.  So when she takes a step into the room, closing the door until there’s only a crack left open, you try to manage a smile.

“Uh, hi, Damara,” you say, drying your hands.  “It’s...been a while since we talked.  Um...why did you turn the lights off?”

“明るかったです,”* she responds with a small smile.  Oh, yeah.  She only speaks in her native language now.  She knows English, but for whatever reason, she only uses it to respond to figures of authority.  You wish you could remember the few phrases Aradia taught you, but you’re horrible with languages. You furrow your brow.

“So...can you turn them back on?” you ask.  Her smile widens. Without flipping the light switch, she begins to walk towards you, weaving gracefully between the tables. Her short skirt swishes with each exaggerated movement of her hips.  She’s beautiful, with a face as unblemished as polished marble and a figure that’s earned her a wicked reputation, but you’ve always tried to distance yourself from any illicit thoughts about her, being as closely associated with her as you always have been.  Now, though, she seems to be trying to encourage you.  She encourages everyone now, from what you’ve heard about her recent behavior.  You cough and look away, fighting down a blush.

“I, um...I’m actually just finishing up in here, and I’m going to go watch the game, so—”

Her hand brushes against your cheek and you stop talking.  She turns your head towards her.  “あなたは兄より優しいでしょうね,”** she says, coaxing you to look up at her. Her eyes seem almost icy, but her smile is still in place, painted with dark red lipstick.  A strange tingling sensation is growing in your hands, sliding up your arms to your shoulders and chilling your skin. The way she’s looking at you makes you feel tense.  Almost as though she knows what you’re thinking, she runs her hand through your mohawk and slides into your lap.

“Dama—” you yelp, but she silences you with a gentle and well-practiced kiss.  You breath becomes shallow.  You know her panties are resting directly against your legs, but you can’t feel anything.  At least...you hope she’s wearing panties.  You repress the thought quickly, but apparently not quick enough. She smirks against your mouth.

“どう? いい感じでしょう?”*** she says.  You don’t know what it means, but her eyelashes lower seductively.  You stare up at her, dry mouthed despite the moisture her tongue leaves on your lips.  Her fingers brush against your wrist, and you realize that you’re gripping the armrest of your wheelchair rather hard.  You try to relax.

“Can you...get off me, please?” you ask, almost ashamed of the thinness in your voice.  A little bit of confidence would do you a lot of good right now.  She smiles and kisses you again, this time rubbing her hips down against yours, her stomach moving in a fluid wave.  She keeps her eyes open, locked on your own.  You don’t know where her hands are.  You feel frozen, like a child caught misbehaving.  You close your eyes, trying to muster up the courage to push her off, and almost instantly a sharp _zip_ slice through the silence.  Something pinches your wrist.

Your eyes fly open and your jaw drops, but before you can react, she’s holding your other hand down and tightening another zip tie around your other wrist.  The cold tingling in your hands that had almost disappeared flares back to life and becomes frigid pinpricks that blaze up your arms, giving you goosebumps all the way to your neck.  Blood drains from your face, leaving your cheeks feeling hollow and cold. Your stomach drops. You look up her, horrified, and the ice in her eyes seems to convey an almost deranged delight.

“いいから,　落ち着け,”**** she purrs, moving off your lap.  You watch her, trying to even out your breathing. With your hands tied to your chair, you can’t back away, and you can’t kick or struggle.  She lifts her shirt over her head, revealing a lacy black bra.  She kneels in front of you.  Her hands are on your fly.

“Uhhh—!  Don’t...” you say as she undoes the button. She glances up at you and smirks before nuzzling into your crotch.  You hear her pull down your zipper.  Her hands dip below your shirt and slide down under your boxers, and she pulls your pants down enough to reveal your lukewarm erection. Your face burns as her fingers ghost over the skin.  When her lips make contact, you look away.

You try to think of something to kill your arousal, but thoughts are running through your mind so fast you can’t focus on anything.  She makes noises that you’ve only heard in your brother’s hentai.  A steady heat is growing in your lower stomach, clashing with the unsettling nausea that’s somehow making you feel outside of your own body.  The zip ties cut into your wrist as you squirm.

You flinch when you feel her fingers trace over your abdomen.  Her mouth is no longer on your dick, and she’s looking at you. She’s waiting for you to make eye contact.  Your own erection embarrasses you, and she seems to notice.  “落ち着け.  _Relax_ ,” she says. You press yourself back into your chair as she stands.  She slides her hands down her body, over her breasts, and even though she’s incredibly attractive, unbelievably sexy, every part of you feels conflicted in millions of different ways.  She teases you, moving to emphasize all the perfectly proportioned muscles stretched tightly over her petite stomach, drawing her skirt up to show off her flawless thighs. Her hands slide up and up and hook on her lacy black underwear.  She drags them down slowly.  You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore.

“私の体が好きですか?”***** she says, dropping the panties on the table next to you. It’s a question, but you can’t answer. She leans over so her cleavage is level with your eyes and grabs your dick.  You’re slick with her saliva and much harder than you want to be. To your dismay, she moves forward as though she’s preparing to climb onto you.

“Wait!  Wait,” you say, leaning back as much as you can as though it’ll help you scoot away.  She pauses and looks at you, eyebrow raised.  Your first attempt to speak fails.  Clearing your throat, you finally manage, “I’m not...I don’t really think this is a good idea.”

“なんで?” she says.

“Ah, um...what?”

She stares at you for a second, and though you try to maintain eye contact, you can see her hand languidly stroking your dick in your peripheral vision.  You can feel it in the heat of your body and the tightness of your abdomen.  You don’t want to be anywhere close to orgasm, so you bite down on your lip and try to will your body to disengage.  You’re failing. With a tiny roll of her eyes, Damara continues on her course to your lap.  She swings her leg over your arm and hoists herself up, bringing the other leg around to rest on your opposite arm.  The zip ties cut into your wrists as you reflexively pull away, but there’s nowhere for you to go.  You don’t want to look down and see her pantiless crotch so near to your erect dick.  As if she knows what you’re thinking, she smirks and leans forward to rest her forehead against yours.

“どう?” she asks.  Her voice is breathy. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her hand moving.

“Stop,” you say. You choke on the word.

“いいから. Ready?”

You understand that word. You inhale, but you can’t seem to get enough air.  Your mind is reeling, your limbs feel like they’re shivering, but your body is still somehow tight with arousal, which is what Damara seems to care about. You don’t know what else to do. “Do you...at least have a condom?”

She smirks. Bracing herself on your legs, she lifts herself.  You know she’s found what she wants by the look on her face, and she lowers herself slowly. You can’t breathe. You close your eyes.

 

Cronus Ampora doesn’t know how to catch a hint.  You’d think a simple “amscray” would be good enough, but the idiot doesn’t seem to understand plain English when he’s got any reason to be a douchebag.  All you wanted to do was watch your cute as shit little sister do flips in her precious cheerleading outfit in peace, but instead you’re walking around the empty halls of the school, trying to ignore the persistent sleazeball trailing behind you.

“To be honest, Meenah, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a football kind of girl.  Not that I have a problem with any sport in particular. I am _all about_ friendly competition, even when it includes some form of violence,” Ampora says.  He just keeps jabbering on, as though you would give a fuck about whether he does or does not like football.

“Pretty sure I told you to buzz off,” you say.  You round a corner.  Empty hallway, closed doors.

“What’s the harm in a little conversation?  What with the flaws in our current schedules, we never get to talk anymore.”

“’Bout damn time,” you say.

“Oh, that’s _really_ swell of you, Meenah.  Can’t you at least pretend to care?”

You stop walking. “Shut up.”

He’s about to open his huge blabbermouth again, but you stick your hand in his face. You hear something. Something that sounds suspiciously naughty.  After he finally shuts his mouth, Cronus seems to notice it, too.  He glances at you, and his lips curl into a smirk. “What do you suppose _that_ is?” he says. After appraising the look on his face, you decide you care far less than you might have if he weren’t around.

“Nope,” you say, and you continue walking.

“Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?  I bet it’s some hormone addled freshmen uncovering the secrets to—“

“Nope, don’t care.”

The sound is getting louder. The door to one of the biology labs is ajar.  And one of the voices sounds way too familiar for comfort.

“Shit, do you know who that is?” Ampora whispers, shooting you a gleeful look.  He tiptoes ahead and glances into the room. You sigh and almost turn to ditch him, but you pause when his jaw drops.  He motions for you to come over.  Your curiosity builds until you can’t make yourself turn away, and you release a muted groan.

The room is dark, and it takes a second for your eyes to adjust.  The noisy culprit is exactly who you thought it would be.  Damara Megido, bobbing up and down and making some sicknasty noises that you didn’t really ever want to hear.  At least she has a bra on.  You squint to make out the guy beneath her.

You almost fall over with shock. Mini-Nitram?  Nitram the younger?  She’s having sex with her ex’s _kid brother_?  And _he’s_ having sex with _her_ , after all the shit that went down with his brother?  Damn, that’s some hella juicy gossip.  You’re so shocked you let yourself exchange a look of incredulity with Ampora.

“I _know_ ,” he whispers.  “What will his brother think?”  He’s enjoying this way too much. 

“I ain’t about to snitch,” you say.  It’s none of your business anyway.  You couldn’t really give a rat’s ass about who Lil’ Nitram gets it on with.  But you do give a rat’s ass about the shit Megido does, and considering the role you played in her almost-murder of Nitram the elder a couple months ago, maybe you should be concerned she’s hopping on the smaller Nitram’s dick.  You frown and squint harder to get a closer look.

“I wasn’t suggesting we snitch, per se—” Ampora starts, but you slap a hand to his mouth.  Lil’ Nitram’s saying something, and you wanna hear it. He’s breathy, which isn’t a surprise given that Damara seems to be destroying the everloving fuck out of his dick.  If it weren’t for that shrill note in his voice, you wouldn’t have heard him at all.

“I—you need to get off, I’m—I’m going to—stop, I don’t want—“ he says.  A whole armada of flags go up in your mind.  Damara keeps going, moaning right over his plea. You open the door a bit to let more light in, ignoring Cronus’s strangled gasp.  Nitram has his eyes squeezed shut, but Damara instantly notices the change in lighting.  Her eyes flash to yours.  You don’t like the smile she sends you.  Beneath her, Nitram’s muscles tighten and his head falls backwards, and he releases a slow, strained moan that he tries to bite down when it’s already halfway out. Damara echoes the noise and buries his face in her breasts.  She rides out his orgasm and waits for him to slump back into his chair before leaning back.

You notice it as he’s at his peak.  He pulls back on his hands, and the zip ties cut down into his wrists.  Even in the thin light, you can see the glimmer of a droplet of blood.

You slam open the door and take a step into the room.  “The fuck do you think you’re doin’?” you say.  Your voice cuts through the sex-thickened silence. Nitram freezes. Damara is completely unfazed.

“Meenah!” Cronus hisses from behind you.  You ignore him.

“遊んでいます,” Damara says with a wide smile.  “Rufioh の弟はすごくかわいいでしょうね.”******

“Bitch, you’d best get your ass out of here before I hand it to you,” you say.  She tilts her head in surrender and grabs her clothes off the table before leaving wordlessly through the lab’s other door. You can hear her footsteps echo down the hallway.

“Meenah, _what are you doing?_ ” Cronus asks as you stroll into the room. Lil’ Nitram stares down at the floor. He doesn’t look up as you get closer.  You eye his wrists to make sure your judgment wasn’t skewed, but you were spot on. The poor kid can’t even pull his own pants up, which you’re willing to bet he’d really like to do right about now.  Was Damara planning to leave him like this before you interrupted?

You don’t say anything as you stop in front of him and pull a pocketknife from your back pocket. With an expert flick of your wrist, you slice through the first zip tie and then the second.  His movements are jerky as he covers himself.

“Wait, what?” Cronus says, finally following you into the room.  Both you and Nitram remain silent.  Ampora walks over and takes a gander at the poor kid’s raw wrists, where blood is beading in a thin line.  He cocks an eyebrow.  “Oh, so you’re _that_ kind.”

You turn and sock him in the jaw.  Nitram’s face jerks up as Ampora topples into the table behind him, scooting it into a line of chairs with a noise so loud it almost startles even you.  “Shut the fuck up,” you snarl.  “Get out if you gonna be an asshole.”

“ _What_?  It was a perfectly reasonable question!” he says, feeling his jaw.

“Like hell that was a question,” you say.

“I was _just asking_ —“

“The answer is no. Take a fucking look.” You point to Nitram. By the look on his face, the kid’s trying not to tear up, and maybe he wouldn’t if you weren’t here to witness the whole ordeal.  Shit, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up?  What happens _now_?

“Ooooh...” Ampora says, examining Nitram’s face.  His eyebrows come down like he’s disturbed but uncertain about it, like this isn’t something he ever thought to consider.  “Okay, but wait... _really_?”

“Uh, hey, I’m, um...gonna go now,” Lil’ Nitram says.  Poor kid looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“To where?” you ask. He pauses and shrugs.

“To the game, I guess.”

“Pff, really?” you say. He glances at you, almost too miserable to be confused.  You grimace. “You don’t wanna go to the game. Need a lift home?”

He drops his eyes and releases this horrible sigh.  “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

You glance at Ampora. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Give the kid a ride.”

“Don’t you have a car?” he asks with a frown.

“I came with Fef. She’ll need to get home somehow,” you say.  He groans.

“This is _not_ how I wanted to spend my Friday night.”

You scowl. “Shit happens, Ampora. Get with the program.”

 “ _Fine. Whatever_.”

“Like you had _plans_ ,” you say, crossing your arms.  “You been following me around the whole damn school for the last hour like the lost puppy nobody wanted.”

“Yeah, well, that’s better than chaperoning a freshman home because he got overwhelmed by a beautiful dame.” You move to slug him again, but he’s too quick for you this time.  “Okay, okay!  _God_.”

“Aight.  If there aren’t any more complaints, let’s go.”

“Wait, you’re coming, too?”

You roll your eyes. “Like I’mma leave him alone with _you_ right after Damara sunk her fuckin’ claws into him.  You’re the two worst people in this place.”

“Oh, _sure_ , I’m _that_ horrible.  In that case, why don’t you just find someone else to do your dirty work for you?” he says, almost pouting.

“Hell no!  I’m guessing this is something we gonna be keeping under wraps?”  You look to Lil’ Nitram for confirmation.  He glances up at you and away.

“...Yeah, that’d be nice if you could do that,” he says.

“See?” you say, turning to Cronus.  “Keep your fat mouth shut.”

“What, do you expect me to walk around broadcasting this whole scene?” he asks.  You raise an eyebrow.  He huffs.  “Fine. If we’re going to go, let’s _go_.”

You gesture to the door and let Ampora lead the way out.  You take a glance at Nitram the younger as he trails after.  You agree with Cronus.  This isn’t how you planned to spend your Friday.

But you’re pissed off for an entirely different reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damara translation:
> 
> *"It was bright."  
> **"You're kinder than your brother, aren't you?"  
> ***"Well? It feels good, doesn't it?"  
> ****"It's fine, so relax."  
> *****"Do you like my body?"  
> ******"We were playing. Rufioh's little brother is very cute, isn't he?"


	2. Shut down

The Nitram house is tiny. Really, you’re shocked they can even accommodate a kid in a wheelchair.  No wonder Rufioh is so good at football—he probably takes every chance he can get to stay out of his cramped box of a home.  You scoff at the mismatched chairs and choose to stay standing.

Meenah is busy ransacking the place.  She opens cabinets, digs through drawers, checks the fridge, the whole works.  You wouldn’t go around saying she’s a thief, but really, why else would someone go through another person’s house the way she is? You bet she’s faking her concern for Nitram’s brother just so she can check out the goods.  It’s not like there’s anything to be concerned about anyway.  So the kid is having a few regrets.  A girl tied him up a bit before showering him in orgasmic ecstasy.  Whatever.  But that’s Meenah for you, stringing the poor bastard along so she can do her own thing. She’s a bad girl, all the way.

“Don’t you got some sorta first-aid kit in here?  Your brother gets the shit tackled outta him regularly and you don’t got any neosporin up in your crib?” she asks, turning to Nitram.  First-aid kit?  _That’s_ what she’s looking for?

“It’s in the bathroom,” he says.

“Which is where?” Meenah asks.

He points down a dark and rather spooky hallway, and Meenah saunters down it, opening doors until she finally finds the bathroom.  Nitram glances at you but looks away quickly, and his cheeks turn a little pink. You have that effect on people sometimes.

“So, uh...Trevor,” you say, sliding over to him.

“Tavros,” he corrects you.

“Whatever. Tavros.  How was it?”

He looks up at you as though he’s confused, but he must know what you’re talking about.  You wag your eyebrows a little bit for emphasis. Before he can answer, though, Meenah’s in the room, toting a little first-aid kit.

“Ampora, back the fuck up,” she says, kicking you in the shins.  You bite back an expletive and step away.  She sets the first-aid kit on the table and begins to dig through it, pulling out some gauze and anti-septic.  Turning to Tavros, she says, “Yo, show me your hands.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Tavros says, but he sticks out his hands for her anyway.  The cuts aren’t even that deep.  They’re just tiny little booboos with only a smidge of blood here or there.  You have no idea what all the fuss is about.

“I know I don’t,” she says, but she does anyway.  You can’t even believe it.  If _you_ had gotten a scrape or two by having sex with Damara, you’re pretty sure Meenah would just throw dirt in the wounds.  He’s just getting special treatment because he’s in a _wheelchair_ , you’re sure of it.  Special needs, your ass.  You lean against the wall and pout a little, hoping she’ll notice how onto her superficial bullshit you are.

“So...kid,” she says after a few quiet seconds.  “You wanna go to the police over this or what?”

“What?” he asks.

“ _What_?” you echo.

“You got witnesses. I’m pretty sure she’s over eighteen. I’ll go with you.”

No way.  The _police_? _Meenah_ is talking about going to the _police_ over this stupid little sexcapade?  “ _Obviously_ he’s not going to go to the police,” you say.  “He doesn’t have anything to go for!”

“Hey, fishbait, was I askin’ you?” Meenah says with a snap. 

“What do you want him to say? ‘Hello, Mr. Policeman, I hope I’m not bothering you too much, but I just had sex with the hottest, most promiscuous slut in school, and it makes me feel bad’?”

“Is this some sorta joke to you, you sick fuck?” Meenah asks, turning to you with her fists balled. She’s not seriously going to punch you again, is she?  She is _on a roll_ tonight. You take a step back.

“Look, we both know Damara’s just trying to get back at Rufioh for cheating on her.  So she actually accomplished it.  You can’t go to the police over something like that. Most anyone would say the guy deserved it.”  You shrug.

“Who, _him_?” she asks, gesturing to Tavros.  He’s sitting there, quietly, probably because he knows you’re right and there’s nothing to argue about. 

“Not _him_ ,” you say, “but it’s not like it’s completely uncalled for.  Rufioh cheats on her, so she has sex with his brother.  It’s just a matter of give and take.”

“She just fuckin’ tied this kid to his own chair an’ raped him, moron!”

“Oh, _please_ , like he would have gotten it up if he didn’t _actually_ want—“

You barely dodge the fist flying straight for your eye socket, and when you get a load of Meenah’s face, you scamper behind the dining room table with your hands up. She is _pissed_.  “You’re worst than dog shit smeared on the bottom of my shoes,” she says. When she’s mad like this, she doesn’t yell.  She just hisses.

“We all know I’m right,” you say.  “If his dick was up, he wanted it.  A guy can’t just _put it in_ and then call rape when he feels bad about it later.  Admit it, you just want a reason to throw Damara in prison for your feud, whatever _that’s_ about.”

Meenah is practically steaming, but you notice that she’s at a loss for a reasonable response. She knows you’re right. Obviously you’re right. She looks at Tavros, who’s still staying quiet and out of the way like any smart kid would. “What about you?” she asks him. “You got nothin’ to say?”

After a short pause, he shakes his head.  You’re starting to like this kid.  “Ha!” you say in triumph.  It’s not every day you get to outsmart Meenah.

She sends you a poisonous look.  “I’m goin’ for a walk,” she says, turning towards the door.

“Oh.  Well, in that case, would you like someone to walk with, who you can talk to about—“

“Fuck no, I don’t want to talk to you!” she snarls.  “I’m done talkin’ to you.  All I wanna do with you is put you through a meat grinder.  I’m blowin’ off steam, _alone_ , got it?  Stay here and get this kid some food or somethin’.”

She slams the door on the way out. Get the kid some food? His legs are crippled, not his entire body.  He can feed himself. “I am _so_ sorry about her outburst,” you say, emerging from behind the table.  “She must be on the rag.”

Tavros glances at you and away again.  What is with this kid and eye contact?  You know he has friends, so he can’t possibly be this shy.  Unless they all think it’s some sort of endearing quality.  You guess you can get behind that.  “Come on, champ, don’t be a stranger.  I know why you might feel guilty for what happened, since you did just figuratively bed your brother’s long time girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, which may be better or worse—but know that neither Meenah nor I intend to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.  We can keep this between us.  So, hey, between two guys, since we’re already this deep...was she any better than your usual lay?”

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about getting friendly with Damara.  And with her reputation, you’re pretty sure you could land a hit without much trouble.  Besides, a little bro to bro sex gossip will take the edge off the kid’s anxiety. Once he realizes that he can talk to you without risk of judgment, he’ll be fine, no problem. He stares down at his hands, picking at his nails, but you wait.  You don’t mind letting him take his time to respond.  You’re a good guy like that.

“I don’t...actually really have anything to compare her to, in order to tell you if she’s better than anyone else,” he finally says.  Your face falls.

“But, wait...weren’t you dating Vriska Serket?”

He grimaces. “Uh, yeah, for a while, but we broke up earlier this year, so...”

“So...?” you say. He doesn’t seem to catch on. “Look, Vriska’s been messing around with my brother, so I _know_ all the little details about her...noteworthy abilities, if you will. No need to be a gentleman. We’re both on the same foot here.”

Finally, a different emotion passes across his face, but it’s not exactly the one you expect. “Oh, uh...that’s...I mean to say, I never had sex with her myself, if that’s what you’re implying.”

You can’t believe it. “You mean to tell me that you were dating that vixen for _how long_ and you never took advantage of your unbelievable luck?”

God, he’s avoiding eye contact again.  How annoying. “We, um...made out and stuff like that, but...I never really felt, you know, confident enough to actually go all the way, because of various self-conscious issues regarding my body, so we never did.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to have any problems getting confident with Damara.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. You must’ve hit a nerve. Really, though, like you’re going to actually _blame him_ for jumping on that unbelievable opportunity when it presented itself. Anyone would, really. No need to feel guilty about starting off with no strings attached if he felt self-conscious about sexual intimacy. It sounds like a good idea to you, actually.

“Can we do something other than talk, because you’re sort of a jerk, and I’m not...really enjoying myself very much,” he finally says.  That floors you.  So maybe that last comment was a little underhanded, but not by _that_ much.

“Me?  A jerk?” you say, frowning.  “I’m not the one who slept with my brother’s ex after she tried to run him over.”

“That—that’s just a rumor,” he says.  His face is turning red.  Serves him right for being a hypocrite.

“Like you don’t know it’s true,” you sneer.

“Actually, I don’t, because Rufioh won’t talk about it, so to me, it’s just a rumor.”

“He won’t talk about it?” you say with a note of surprise.  What, is Rufioh embarrassed that his ex assaulted him?  Well, you guess he _was_ cheating.  Maybe there’s a speck of shame in there somewhere.

“And if he won’t talk about it, then I’m not either, to honor his right to privacy.”  The kid’s beginning to turn sour.  Nobody rewards curiosity in this day and age.

“Whatever,” you say. “If you don’t want to talk, what do you want to do until Meenah gets back?  I hope you don’t really expect me to _feed_ you.”

“No, I’m not...I’m not really very hungry,” he says with a huge sigh.  Ugh, you hope he doesn’t start to wax dramatic on you. You cannot _stand_ dramatic people.

“So?  What do you like to do?” you ask.

“Uh...I guess I like to play video games, or read, or design characters and outfits for RP club, or write raps—“

“Write raps!” you say, grabbing onto the first option that doesn’t sound boring and horrible. “I can be about that! I, too, enjoy dappling in lyrical artistry.  Perhaps we can work together as a team to come up with something?”

You beam at him expectantly, waiting for his reply.  He doesn’t say anything immediately.  After a pause, he sighs.  “I can’t really think of anything to rap about right now.”

You suppress a groan. “Then what _do_ you want to do?”

“I think...shower, mostly, and then maybe fall asleep.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” you say with a frown.

“Uh, yeah. I know.”

“Well, whatever,” you say, finally dropping into one of the mismatched chairs around the dining table. “Don’t let me stop you.”

 

When you finally get back to the Nitram’s, Cronus is sitting with his legs propped up on the table, playing some stupidass game on his phone.  “Yo,” you say, looking around, “where’s Lil’ Nitram?”

“He went to bed,” Cronus says, rolling his eyes.

“So, what, you just been sitting here by yourself like a schmuck?”

“ _Yes_ , that’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” he says, throwing you a glare.  “I was worried you wouldn’t come back before Rufioh got here.  What was I supposed to say?  ‘Oh, hey, Rufioh, I was just hanging out with your younger brother for no discernable reason’?”

You lift an eyebrow. “So you’re at least a little bit aware that e’rybody thinks you’re a creepster.”

“What?  That is not at all what I was trying to imply,” he says, looking outraged.

“Then what were you tryin’ to imply?”

“I was—nothing! Just that it’s strange to find a person in your home who you did not invite or expect to be there,” he says with a huff.  Mm hmm. More like he thinks people automatically have weird motives for hovering around someone else because that’s the only way he knows how to operate.

“Whatevs.  Take me home.”

“What, no ‘thank you for watching the kid while I walk off my period cramps’?”

“You wanna keep all your teeth, chump?”

“...Yes.”

You move aside and gesture to the door.  You’re never gonna let this asshole walk behind you again after watching the way he reacted to today’s fiasco.  He’s always gonna be in front of you, where you can keep your eyes on him and get the first jump if he tries anything funny.  He almost seems to know what you’re thinking, because he shoves his hands deep into his pockets and slumps outside to his car, grumbling.

You don’t bother talking to him on the way home.  You think. Cronus may be a huge sack of bile, but you’re not an idiot.  You know he’s right.  The police aren’t gonna take this seriously.  Half the school probably wouldn’t take this seriously.  And you’re willing to bet Damara knows that. She probably wants Rufioh to find out that Lil’ Nitram got on his freak with her, and she wants him to think Lil’ Nitram was in on it.  Hell, it does sound like a convenient excuse.  “Oh, no, I didn’t _mean_ to sleep with her, she—she just tied me down, and I had no choice!” Sure.  And if Lil’ Nitram is anything like his older brother, he’d let that sorta slander bulldoze him into silence.  Ain’t no one seen the look on his face but you, and that’s gonna make all the difference.

This is all on you now. You thought you had a bone to pick with Megido before, but now things have gotten real.  It’s about time you took out the garbage.


	3. Follow up

You never noticed how loud the lunchroom was before now.  You’re at your usual place, sitting at the end of one of the long tables next to your friends.  Vriska is talking to Terezi about the RP club meeting later today.  Karkat is complaining to Dave and John about something, and when Nepeta shows up, he turns to talk to her about the poster designs for his campaign for class president.  Eridan and Sollux are bickering over Feferi’s head. Rose is humoring Equius while he talks about robotics club.  You know this is how it always is.  But today, you feel like there’s a pane of glass between you and the rest of the world, and no matter how much you would like to engage with the scene in front of you, you just can’t.

“Tavros?” Aradia asks. You jump.  She’s watching you push around your food with a concerned look on her face.  “Is everything okay?  You’ve been really quiet today.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you say. Looking at her makes your chest tighten.  You haven’t seen Damara all day, but she’s been flashing through your mind at random intervals, interrupting your thoughts and inducing an uncomfortable churning in your stomach.  You’re lucky that the seniors have a different lunch period than the sophomores, or else you don’t think you’d feel well enough to eat at all.  But she and Aradia have similar faces, with the same elegant slant to their eyes and the same curve to their lips.  The cuts on the back of your wrists inexplicitly begin to sting.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” she asks.  It’s nice of her to be concerned, but you wish she wouldn’t be.  The questions are making you feel a bit sick.

“That, uh, might be a way to put it, even though I guess I did sleep a lot,” you say.  “I must have been sleeping in a weird way, because I still feel really tired and not altogether well.”

“Are you getting sick?”

You sigh.  You don’t want to lie, but it’s better than the alternative. “Maybe.  It could be just a head cold, or something similarly disorientating.”

“If you’re getting sick, stay away from me,” Vriska says, jumping in on your conversation. “That’s the _last_ thing I need right now!”

“If you start coughing, make sure to do it right next to Vriska’s locker,” Terezi says.  “Or, better yet, next to Karkat’s.  If I have to hear another word about his presidential campaign, I’m going to stab myself in the ears.”

You manage a halfhearted smile at the joke, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You do feel tired. If it were up to you, you would have stayed at home and slept all day.  Trying to act normal is making you all the more exhausted.

The bell to end lunch period rings, and Aradia takes your tray to throw away all your uneaten food. You roll down the hallway to your locker, taking care not to run over any toes.  Something is taped to the metal door. It’s a note, carefully folded, with nothing written on the outside.  A chill shudders through your body as you reach out to pull it off, even though you have no idea who it’s from or what it’s about.  Maybe someone’s asking you about homework. Maybe it’s a harmless, cute letter from a secret crush.  Maybe it’s from Meenah.  She was being awfully nice to you the other day, so maybe she thought to give you a supportive note, like a metaphorical pat of encouragement to get you through the week. Fighting down the bubbles of apprehension sliding through your torso, you open it.

**Let’s skip.  Come to office.  Don’t tell.**

You stare at the note. The handwriting isn’t familiar, but the way it’s written cues you into the sender.  She never used to talk like that.  You don’t know why she’s pretending like she doesn’t speak English anymore.  You don’t know why she’s pretending to be the way she is now at all.  She never used to be this way.

What do you do? Do you ignore it? But the thought stirs up a sudden wave of panic that almost chokes you.  You feel dizzy.  Ignoring the warning bell, you make a beeline to the bathroom, where you get physically sick into a toilet for the next few minutes.  If the idea weren’t the source of your distress, skipping would be exactly what you would want to do.

You sit in the bathroom and fret over your options, but you’re too shaky to handle your thoughts in any rational manner.  Helplessness presses down on you like a literal black mass, and you can hardly breathe. You can’t think of good way to deal with your situation.

“Don’t tell.” Tell who?  Rufioh?  Aradia? You remember what Eridan’s brother said last Friday when Meenah asked about going to the police. You don’t want to hurt Rufioh like that or earn that sort of reputation.  You don’t think you could deal with the shame.  Taking a few deep breaths, you leave the bathroom and meander down the hall to the office.

When you press the button to open the door, Aranea, who spends the period as an office aid, looks up. “Hey, Tavros, what can I—“ She stops talking before the door clicks shut.  Concern passes across her face.  “Should I get the nurse?” she asks.

After a second of hesitation, you nod.  She gestures for you to follow her to the back, where the nurse’s station is located. As though you can sense her presence, you immediately recognize Damara’s dark hair poking out from behind a wall. She’s standing in another part of the office, making copies for one of the teachers.  You didn’t know she was an office aid during this hour as well, but you’re not surprised.  In fact, you feel a vaguely disconcerting sense of resignation. This is how it’s going to happen, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

The nurse approaches you and performs a quick check-up, taking your temperature and looking up information on you.  She asks if there’s anything serious regarding your disability that she should know about and if this is a reason to be concerned due to your paralysis, but you insist that you’re just garden variety ill.  She asks if she should call your parents to have you taken home or, preferably, to your actual doctor.  And Damara appears in the doorway.

“I can take him home,” she says with a smile.

Of course. You don’t fight it. Damara sweet-talks the nurse into allowing her to give you a ride home.  You follow her outside, feeling almost otherworldly, like a ghost trailing behind your own body.  She takes you to her car, and you get in.  You don’t fight it.

 

You walk into the office and make a beeline for Aranea, covering her mouth before she can greet you. You glance around. “I got something I need to talk to you about later, if you can keep your motormouth shut on it,” you say into her ear.  “Is Megido still in the back or wherever the fuck she hangs out this hour?”

You uncover her mouth, and she looks at you like you’re crazy, which isn’t anything new for you. “No, she left,” she says.

“Aw, fuck,” you say, crossing your arms.  “I was finnin’ to get up in her face about somethin’ hells of important.”

“Meenah, you can’t just walk into the office and pick fights whenever you feel like it,” Aranea says with a sigh.  “I don’t know what set you off this time, but at least leave it until after school! Are you skipping class right now?”

“Pff, like anyone gives a fuck if I skip _computer science_ ,” you say. “Who needs that course anyway? Why we even _have_ that class?  It’s dumb as shit.”

“Then why did you take it?”

You shrug. “It’s easy.”

“If you wanted an easy way to fill up an empty period, why didn’t you just volunteer to be an office aid like I did?”

“Cuz that awful witch hangs out in here like half the day, suckin’ up to the principal.  You know he likes that skirt.”

Aranea sighs again. “I guess it’s probably good you didn’t, then.  I’d hate for you to get expelled for fighting.”

“Yeah, the old lady probs wouldn’t be too happy with me if I did,” you say, referring to your mother. “She thinks I can’t make bank unless I go to college.”

“Well, it does help,” Aranea says.

“I could always deal cocaine,” you say, more to elicit a response from Aranea than anything else. She rolls her eyes, and you grin.

“So what’s your big problem with Damara this time?” she asks, changing the subject.  Your grin slips.

“Nah, I can’t say,” you reply. “At least not here. She could be back at any second an’ I don’t want to get into it with nobody around to eavesdrop.”

“Who, Damara?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think she’ll be coming back today, actually,” Aranea says.  “Tavros was in earlier feeling sick, and she offered to drive him home. She’ll probably stay there to look after him until his parents return.”

Your insides ice over in horror. “Oh, fuck,” you say, staring at Aranea.  “For real?”

“Um...yes?” she says, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Aw, fuck...fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” you say. Your dismay slowly turns into outrage.  “That fuckin’ cunt, I can’t even—when did they leave?”

“Less than an hour ago, I think.  Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, there’s a huge fuckin’ problem.  I gotta go. Put me down as sick, got it?”

“Wait, Meenah!” Aranea says, but you’re already out the office door and heading for the school exit. You dive into your sweet ride and peel out of the parking lot, heading straight for the Nitram house. You’re almost glad, in a way. Now you have the opportunity to do what you should’ve done last time.  You’ll barge straight in on that nasty business and kick the shit outta the bitch like she deserves, and Lil’ Nitram can watch you avenge him like a goddamn hero. When it’s all said and done, you can help him do whatever he needs to get over it, and that miserable expression you saw on his face won’t have to be branded onto your mind for the rest of forever.


	4. Dig in

You light up a joint. You know he’s not this quiet. You also know he won’t talk to you.  Nobody talks to you anymore.  Probably because you won’t talk to them.  He used to talk to you when you came to visit Rufioh.  You’d bring your sister.  All of you would hang out together.  He still gets along with Aradia, you think. It makes you jealous, but not angry.

He looks like Rufioh. He even cut his hair like Rufioh’s, almost, but without the dye.  He doesn’t have Rufioh’s muscles, but neither did Rufioh until high school. Rufioh changed once you both got to high school.  Fuck Horuss Zahhak.

When you were younger, Rufioh was so kind, so sweet.  You trusted him so much.  You trusted him with everything.  You told him _everything_ , about everything you were afraid to say to anyone else.  But he betrayed you.  You still don’t understand.  Horuss never admired Rufioh the way you did.  You gave him everything he wanted, but he chose Horuss, who devalued him. You trusted him, but he shoved your trust back at you because he couldn’t handle it.

You wonder if Rufioh knew how much of you he was going to destroy when he fucked you over. But it wasn’t a big deal to anyone else, was it?  It was a joke, wasn’t it?  Meenah seemed to think so.  She made fun of your pain.  She reminded you of your pain whenever she could, magnified it millions of times until it tore you to shreds.  But everyone loves Meenah, and nobody loves you.  You’re the evil one.  You’re the villain. And why not?  Why not be the evil one?  Being the sweet one didn’t work.  Trusting other people...loving other people didn’t work.  All it did was hurt you.  You should’ve known better then, but now, you definitely do.

You’re so full of wrath, and you don’t even care anymore.  Fuck it.  Fuck everyone. You inhale a lungful of smoke and hold it in before letting it swirl from your mouth.  You take what peace you can get.

You offer the joint to Tavros. He hasn’t even unbuckled his seatbelt.  He’s scared because he doesn’t know where he is.  But it’s a nice day outside.  It’s crisp, cool, and still.  Sunlight filters through colored leaves.  No one is around.  Few people know about this nature reserve out in the middle of the country, and no one would come in the middle of the day like you have.  It’s peaceful.  If he took a hit, he might come to appreciate it like you do.

“吸って事がありますか?”* you ask.  You move the joint a little closer to him.  He doesn’t understand your words, but he understands you.  He takes the joint with a sigh.

“I’ve, um...only done this twice, with my friend Gamzee,” he says.  “But it never really did anything for me, or get me high in a way that I felt made a difference.”  You like the way he speaks.  Rufioh pretends to be laid back, with his “dogg”s and “doll”s and ellipses, but he’s full of secret anxieties. He’s a coward. Tavros is a coward, too, but he doesn’t pretend not to be.

You don’t think he’d cheat on his girlfriend, even if he wanted to.  You think he’d say something when he fell out of love, even if it was hard.

You watch him as he takes a hit and dissolves into a fit of coughing.  You smirk.  His inexperience seems so naive to you now.  He belongs to a totally different sphere of life.  Once, you were there with him, but you’ve been ruined. Even if you wanted to return to the Damara you tried so hard to be, you wouldn’t be able to, knowing what you know now about people.

You’ll never trust anyone again.  They’ll tear you down, and you’ll tear them down.  Eventually everyone will give up on you and it’ll all stop.  You’ll be alone.  But loneliness hurts less than betrayal.

His coughing subsides. You take a hit, pass it to him, and he takes a hit.  The car fills up with smoke.  You don’t open the windows.  You want to be so high you can’t even think.

You look over at Tavros. He’s practically flying. His eyes are red and dilated. You study his face, and you don’t bother suppressing the way you feel.  The “bad” emotions, “shameful” emotions, they don’t scare you anymore.  Who cares? You’ve already accepted how vile you are.  That’s the you they decided they wanted, after all.

You want him. You ache with want for him. You ache because he looks like his brother, but you know he’s so much better than him.  You ache because he’s kind to your sister and genuine. But you know better than to think that it matters.  He’d hurt you, too.  You can never trust anyone again, even if they remind you of the better parts of Rufioh. Especially not if they remind you of the better parts of Rufioh.

You start to take off your shirt.  The sudden movement startles Tavros, but he grows still.  He looks like how you felt when you broke.  Once a sweet angel, you are now the whore that breaks fragile boys, just like a whore broke you.  Maybe you’ll be the monster that turns him into something like what you are.  You remove your bra.  He can try to hide it, but you see the way he eyes your body.  He wants you, too.  He hasn’t accepted it yet the way you have.  He still cares what everyone else thinks.

Maybe that’ll be the difference between you and him.  You have nothing left to care about and no one left to care about you. But he still has plenty, and there are still plenty of people who are willing to pick him up when you send him home. Like Meenah.  You can hardly even believe it.  It’s almost funny.  She wrenched this monster out from inside of you without a shred of remorse, but she’ll defend the wide-eyed idiot sitting in your passenger seat.  What’s the difference between you and him?  When you were in his position, what was the goddamn difference?

You unbuckle his belt and reach across him for the lever to his seatback.  You lower him down until he’s almost on his back. You transfer yourself into his lap.  He watches you, blinking slowly.  The smoke is infecting him, pacifying him.  You’re feeling it, too.  You take his hand in yours and transfer it to your breast, coaxing him to squeeze, guiding his thumb over your nipple.  You just want to feel good.  You want to have the things you want.  If you can’t trust anyone to see to your needs, to care about you, to protect you, then fuck it.  You’ll see to your own needs. You’ll _take_ what you want.

And he should do the same. If he wants to touch you, he should touch you.  You want him to touch you.  What’s the fucking problem?

He makes a small, pathetic noise as you place your hands on his sides and draw up his shirt. You dip down and nip at his neck, and his head jerks to the side.  You disdain the way he flinches.  This feels good to him.  You know it does.  Caring about anything else is what’s hurting him.

Your breasts rest against his bare chest as you lean forward to kiss him.  He closes his eyes and lets you guide his hands above his head, where you hold his wrists together.  You feel a line of puckered skin on the back of his wrists.  You cut him last time.  You wonder if he liked it.  You like the thought of him liking it.

The fabric of his jeans is not enough friction for you, so you reach down with your free hand, dipping your fingers into your underwear and pressing them against your clitoris. You’re so high that you forget where you are for a second, focused entirely on the warmth between your legs, the sensation of your wet fingers gliding against the sensitive skin. You kiss him, and his mouth is sweet and intoxicating.  Your tongue presses against his.  To your surprise, he slowly kisses you back.  You wonder if he’s given up or if it’s the smoke playing with his mind.

You release him from his jeans.  You palm him, working him up.  This is how you know you deserve what you’re getting.  You’re sexy.  He wants you. You love knowing that he wants you, even if he won’t look you in the eye.

His breath quickens as you slide onto him.  There’s always a moment of discomfort, a second to reorient yourself into the feeling of being filled up.  But it’s a good feeling. It precedes the bliss you crave, a few moments of mindless, purely hedonistic pleasure accompanied by the reassurance that you’re wanted, attractive, and valuable for at least some purposes. Who cares how he feels about you afterwards?  Right now, you’re his ecstasy.  You’re gratifying yourself.

You rub yourself. You’re nothing but friction and primal heat, and you let yourself fall into your marijuana mind haze. You don’t know how long you last before you grow tight and the shockwave of euphoria spreads up from your abdomen to the very tips of your fingers.  You forget about Tavros until he lets out a strangled cry beneath you and his heat fills you up.  You’re still holding his hands above his head in a crushing grip, and you release him. He’s panting.  You can tell you did a good job.

“お前は上手だ,”** you say, giving him a languid kiss.  His pupils flutter under his lidded eyes, focusing just enough to look into your own.  Maybe he’ll fall asleep.  You hope he does.

 

You circled the Nitram house five times before you decided beyond the shadow of a doubt that Lil’ Nitram and Damara were not inside.  You put a dent in their garbage can with your foot.  You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.  They weren’t at the Megido’s foster house, either. Her portly foster mom came to the door when she saw you sneaking around the yard and explained that Damara hadn’t come home from school.  To your embarrassment, she asked if anything at school was bothering Damara and expressed concern for Damara’s emotional well-being, and you couldn’t give her any sort of positive answer.  You just shrugged.

School got out about ten minutes ago.  You’re sitting at home, fussing with your valuable shit and waiting for Aranea to show up. It always takes her too damn long to drive the distance between the school and your house for some dumb reason. When the doorbell finally rings, you feel about ready to shank a stranger.

“’Bout damn time!” you snap as you open the door.  You don’t wait for Aranea to complain before you pull her in and up the stairs to your room.

“What is this about, Meenah?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips as you lock the door.

“Can’t tell you,” you say. “All I can say is that I’m gonna beat Damara’s head in this time.”

“Meenah, you know if something is bothering you, you can talk to me,” Aranea says.  God, you hate it when she says stuff like that when you have secrets, which is admittedly never.  You release a small huff.

“But you’re the worst secret keeper in the whole school,” you say.  She frowns.

“That’s not true!”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, Karkat is the worst secret keeper.  Meulin’s not that much better.”

“Which is why I ain’t blabbin’ to them either!”

She rolls her eyes. “Can’t you at least give me a hint?”

You bite your tongue. Fuck it, you’re horrible at this shit. “I’ll just say this’s got something to do with Nitram the younger, and that it ain’t good.  But I ain’t sayin’ more than that.”

Aranea’s face changes. “If something bad is going on between Damara and Tavros, Meenah, you really should tell someone. She almost ran Rufioh over.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that,” you say.  “Look, if it were me, I’d be transparent as water about this, but the kid doesn’t want to bother Rufioh with it, and I’m willin’ to bet he’s not keen on a bunch of people hearing about this shit.”

“ _What_ shit?”

It would be so easy just to say it.  But you don’t like the idea. This isn’t your usual petty theft bullshit.  You never thought you’d get yourself involved in something like this, and, frankly, you’re about as competent dealing with it as you would be flying a plane.

“Meenah,” Aranea presses, but more gently, like she can see that you’re out of your element.

“I went to the Nitram house to see if Lil’ Nitram and Megido were there, and they weren’t,” you say. “I don’t know where she took him.”

Aranea frowns. “But if he’s sick, that’s not good!”

“Ya think?” you say. “But the kicker of it is, I’m willin’ to bet all my swank ass carats that he wasn’t sick at all.”

“I saw him, Meenah. He wasn’t feeling well.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He was just pale. He looked pretty awful.”

“Aw fuck,” you say with a sigh, falling onto your bed.  “This shit’s beyond me.  We gotta find him, Aranea.  The kid’s hurting.”

“Why?  Did Damara do something to him?”

“What the hell else you think this’d be about?”

“I have no idea, because _you won’t tell me_!”

“I said I can’t say nothin’! I told him I wouldn’t.”

Aranea opens her mouth to respond, but the doorbell rings downstairs before she can say anything. You roll off your bed and glance out the window.  Damara is getting into her car.  Without pausing, she pulls out from your driveway and takes off down the road with a loud squeal.

“Shit,” you hiss, and without acknowledging Aranea’s question about it, you dart from the room and bound down the stairs to the front door.  When you open it, Lil’ Nitram lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave. You can tell in a glance that he’s high as shit.  “What the—fuck, but why’d she bring you _here_?” you ask.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t know the answer to that question, but sorry for the intrusion,” he says, ringing his hands in his lap.  “Is this...your house?”

You stare at him with narrow eyes.  He keeps ringing his hands.  Fidgeting. After a second, you notice that he’s shivering, even though it’s only a little chilly outside. “Goddamn it,” you say.

“Oh, she...brought him here?” Aranea asks, joining you at the door.  “But this is good, right?  We were worried about you, Tavros.”

The color drains from his cheeks. “Uh...um, Meenah, can...I say something to you, in private?” he says, his voice cracking.

God, that face. You don’t hesitate to turn to Aranea and say, “You heard him.”  She must be concerned about his sudden change in demeanor, because she doesn’t even argue.  You wait until you hear the click of your bedroom door swinging shut before turning back to Tavros. “What’s up?”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” he asks quickly.  Distress quivers in his voice.  He gulps down some air and continues before you can get a word in edgewise, “Because, uhm, I, uh, never did really—I never had sex with Vriska, because I said—I said that I wasn’t comfortable doing that, and if she finds out that I—she’d be mad at me, probably, and might say some things that would, just—“

“Whoa, chill. I didn’t tell any Serket nothin’,” you interrupt as he begins to fall apart.  Little beads of sweat appear on his forehead.  His shivering becomes more violent. The kid’s practically trembling right in front of you, and you’re willing to bet whatever drug she put him on—pot, from the smell of it, but you wouldn’t be surprised if she laced something into it—isn’t helping at all.

“I, um...I’m sorry,” he says, and in some misplaced attempt to break the tension, he lets out a shaky laugh that sends quivering little twitches down his body.  Instead of relaxing, he grows tenser. “I...we, um...”

“What’d she do?” you ask. “Besides dope you up.”

He opens his mouth and closes it before deflating.  It’s like watching the soul drain right out of him.  His eyes grow glossy.

“Okay, never mind, you don’t gotta answer that,” you say.  Fuck, what do you do?  Should you...hug him? But isn’t that something you shouldn’t do to someone who’s been raped?  Like...would that freak him out?  “Uh,” you say, looking over your shoulder.  You should invite him into your house, but you’re not wheelchair accessible. Even the door is up a step. Fuck.

“Okay, this is what we’re gonna do,” you say, turning back to him.  “You’re blazed, and I’m not gonna take you home when you’re like this.  You gonna hang out here until you come down, got it?  But I gotta carry you in, ‘cuz we’re not made for your chair.  Don’t freak out.”

He nods.  “Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t sweat it,” you say. After a second of hesitation, you dip down and haul him out of his chair.  You expected him to be heavier than he is. You give yourself a mental pat on the back for your unreal strength.  Trying to ignore the shivering, you carry him inside and glance at the living room.  You feel strange leaving him in such a public space.  Neither your sister nor your parents are going to be home any time soon, but still.  The kid needs some privacy.  You grimace and set your jaw.  Ignoring the growing burn in your legs, you carry him up the stairs to your room and set him down on your bed.  You exchange a look with Aranea before going to get his chair.

“Okay, listen up,” you say, hauling the folded wheelchair into your room and closing the door. Aranea, for once, is silent, and Tavros looks up at you, trying to hold his misery in.  You lean down and look him in the eyes. “Shit happens when you’re this blazed.  Don’t lose your cool,” you say.  He nods. It doesn’t feel like enough, though.  You press your lips together and inhale.  “Okay, look, I’m the baddest bitch in this town, and this is _my_ house,” you say.  “Ain’t nowhere safer than the house you in right now.  This is the safest of safe places.  If you start flipping your shit, just remember that I got this place on lockdown and you don’t need to worry about a damn thing. Stay outta dark places in your brain until you come down, got it?”

He nods again. As an afterthought, you pull your comforter up around his shoulders.  “Gonna go get you some drink,” you say, and you glance at Aranea. She gets the hint and follows you out of the room.

“What is going _on_?” she demands in a whisper as you lead the way to the kitchen.

“I’mma kill her this time,” you say, slamming a glass onto the counter a little hard, “and I don’t care if I get thrown in the fuckin’ slammer for it.  This ain’t cool.”

“This isn’t just about her getting him high,” Aranea guesses.  You press your lips together and fill the glass in the sink, remaining silent. “Meenah, this is beginning to sound really serious.  If something illegal is happening, you need to get _help_.”

“He don’t want it,” you say. “Going to anyone else’d cause more problems than it’d solve.”

“Then let _me_ help,” she says.  You look at her.  Her face is hard with determination, and you’re taken aback.  Serket’s getting real. 

“He told me real’ clear that he doesn’t want you to know what’s goin’ on,” you say.

“Then don’t tell me! But if I can do something, let me know.”

You lift an eyebrow in appreciation and throw her a small smirk.  “Now you’re talkin’,” you say.  “I do need someone to keep an eye on Megido for me.”

“I can do that,” she says. “We have a lot of classes together.”

“Great,” you say, and you mean it.  It’ll take a load off of you, now that you know Damara’s a repeat offender.  You pause.  Come to think of it, it’d be a good idea to have a couple pairs of eyes on Damara.  It’d also be a good idea to have someone on Mini Nitram duty to make sure he’s not getting into trouble.  You don’t like knowing that he’d jump into Damara’s car without any resistance. But that means you’re going to have to recruit more people into this business.  And the only other person who has any idea what’s going on is...Ampora.  Fuck.

“What?” Aranea asks. Apparently your contempt for Cronus showed on your face. 

“Nothin’.  Got some calls to make later,” you say, and you nod for her to follow you back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damara translation:
> 
> * "Have you smoked before?"  
> ** "You're very skilled."


	5. Stand off

Meenah struts up to you between third and fourth period, looking irritated, to say the least. “Well, well, well, look who it is,” you say, and your grin becomes even more devilish because you said it without stumbling over the ‘w’s.  You are a smooth criminal.  She rolls her eyes.

“Cut the crap, Ampora. I had a long night and a longer morning.  Are we still on about you-know-what?”

“That depends,” you say, and her face instantly falls.

“Depends on what?”

“Well, I was up late last night thinking about the whole ordeal, and I have an additional condition that I need to be met before I agree to get involved in all of this,” you say. You stop talking and wait for her to ask.

“What,” she says in a tone so flat you could skate on it.

“Prom.  You and me.  No take-backs, no cold feet.”

Shades of disgust pass across her face.  You’d be insulted if you didn’t know to expect it.  “I don’t do prom,” she says, which is about the most diplomatic thing she could say in this situation.  You’ll consider that a good thing.

“Then I don’t babysit,” you say, closing your locker with a bang.

She stares you down. If you weren’t in a position to negotiate, you’d almost feel nervous.  “Fine,” she finally says.  You barely contain your excitement.  You’ll rejoice later, when you’re home and don’t have to worry about your reputation.  Your thoughts on the matter stutter when she grabs your face. “ _But_ ,” she says, “don’t expect nothin’ other than a fancy dress and _maybe_ dinner beforehand, _if_ we got a group together.”

“And at least one dance,” you say.  She glares at you, and you press, “Come _on_ , it’s not a prom date if you don’t dance with me at least _once_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she says between gritted teeth.  “But you better do your fuckin’ job, got it? If I get _one complaint_ from Lil’ Nitram that you’re being shitty, you’re out a prom date.”

“Agreed,” you say, and you stick your hand out.  She scowls and grabs it in a vice grip.  You grimace.

“Talk to him before the end of the day,” she says, still crushing your hand.  “Get his number and tell him why he wants you around. Get his _permission_ to stalk him.”

“Stalk him?” you say, trying to pull your hand away.  “Is that what I’m doing?”

“That’s why you on Lil’ Nitram duty,” she says.  “Because we know you’re good at gluing yourself to people.  In this case and this case only, that’s a compliment.”

“Fine, fine,” you say. “So, really, this is just me watching the kid like a friendly, overbearing hawk.”

“Exactly.  And _don’t fuck it up_. I’m not in the neighborhood of fucking around about this,” she says.  Damn, she can be intense when she wants to be.

“Got it,” you say. She finally lets go, and without another word, she turns on her heels and struts away.

Fuck yes, you have a prom date with Meenah Peixes.

You follow Meenah’s instructions and approach Tavros between classes, even though the sophomore hallway is so not your scene.  At least he’s easy to spot.  You stroll up to him and lean on the locker next to his, greeting him with your best smile. “Hey there, champ,” you say. He glances up at you, and you can tell he’s confused.  Why wouldn’t he be?  It’s not every day a cool cat like you saunters down an underclassman hallway for his sake. You make sure your smile is as disarming as possible and continue, “Look, I think we got off on a bad foot the other day, and I want to make it up to you.  That is, Meenah and I were talking, and she thinks you could use a friend like me to keep you out of trouble.  Now, I know what you might be thinking. A sensitive type guy like me isn’t really the best choice for bodyguard.  But since I doubt we’ll be the ones at the receiving end of the violent stick, I’m all you’ll need to stay safe and sane.  How’s that sound to you?”

He hesitates. “Bodyguard?” he repeats.

“—is one way to look at it, yes,” you say.  “More like ‘companion.’  Or ‘friend with benefits,’ but of a different beneficial sort than what’s usually implied. Unless, of course, you decide that you-know-who isn’t your thing and want to try something new.” Which, of course, would be fine with you.  He looks up at you, clearly contemplating everything you just said, with a look of incredulity and what could only be described as awe.

“...Can’t Meenah be my companion instead?” he finally asks.

You’re taken aback. What a greedy little bastard! “Oh, so _Meenah’s_ on your mind now, is she?” you ask. “Don’t you think you’ve got enough bad girls on your radar already?  I mean, Vriska should’ve been enough, and then, you know, but now _Meenah,_ too?  I would never have pegged that as your type if I didn’t hear it straight from the source.”

His face turns pink. “That’s not what I meant at all—“

“No, no, I get it,” you say, and you do.  Now you know why he’s acting all pathetic and moping around.  It’s actually genius.  The kid in the wheelchair, pretending to be so vulnerable, enticing one sex kitten to tie him down and give him a good ride and then crying a little to appeal to another chick’s sense of honor.  The more you think about it, the more impressed you are. He’s really playing directly to the bad girl type.  And exploiting both his brother’s and Meenah’s conflict with Damara?  Wow.  You’re floored. 

You always knew the cripples and rejects got all the love, but you’ve never watched a plot unfold directly in front of you.  Maybe you’ll benefit from some time in the kid’s company.  Maybe you can learn a few things.

“So, how about you give me your phone number?” you ask, and you offer him your phone.  With a sigh, he takes it and punches his number in. You take it back with a smile. “I’ll text you my number in a bit, champ.  And, since we both know how things are right now, I’ll be hanging out with you after school today. Probably at my house, if that’s cool with you.”  Which it’d better be, because you don’t much care for the idea of spending the afternoon at the Nitram abode.

“I was actually thinking about maybe going to RP club...” he says, but you can sense some hesitation there.

“Do you _want_ to go to RP club?” you ask.

He grimaces. “Um...it’s just that my friends have been asking me questions, and I don’t want to appear suspicious.”

“Tell them you’re having trouble with a class and that I’ve been so kind as to offer you assistance,” you say.  To your surprise, he actually looks rather relieved.

“Okay, yeah, that actually sounds like a good idea,” he says.

“Great!  I’ll see you after school, then,” you say, patting him on the shoulder before turning to leave.  The bell rings.  Fuck, you’re late to your class.

 

You know Damara sneaks outside to smoke during lunch, so you sneak out after her.  She wanders over to the football field and ducks behind the back of the concession stand.  You follow, careful not to blow your cover.  Keeping your back against the wall, you sneak a peek around the corner.  She’s there, lighting a joint.

“Meenah,” someone says behind you.  You jump and whip around. Rufioh’s apparently followed you out here, and he’s got a stern if somewhat anxious look on his face. You stiffen.  Damara definitely heard that, and she’ll also hear any conversation you have afterwards.  But she makes no sound.

“’Sup, Nitram,” you say, trying to appear cool even though you’re listening for any signs of movement around the corner.

“I wanna ask you about last night...you know, with Tavros,” he says.  Fuck.

“Yo, can we talk about that later?  I’m kinda busy with something right now.  Got a lot on my mind, you know how it is,” you say.

“Hey, normally I’d be down with that, but I’m a little worried...especially after you called and said you got him high...that’s not cool, Meenah.”

You sigh.  “I said I was sorry about that,” you say. “I did everything you told me to. Gave him my bed, put up grab holds, woke him up to piss even when he was conked...I even took him to your place before school so he could shower.  You were gone already.”

“Oh, is that why you didn’t get here until third period...?”

“You noticed, huh?”

He sighs.  “Yeah, I did...sorry, I’m not about pointing fingers or anything like that...but this is weird, you know?  Kinda whack how you two been hanging out lately...by which I guess I mean since last week...not that that’s not okay! I’m cool with you buddying up with my brother...but, I don’t know, he’s been acting strange since last Friday...didn’t even come to my game, which he always does...and I just wanted to ask if you knew anything about that?”

Fuck you sideways, this is the last thing you want to talk about with Damara eavesdropping around the corner. You need to think quick. “Have you asked him about his classes?” you say.  Wow, what a lame excuse. But Rufioh seems to be about it.

“No, I haven’t, but that would make sense...the kid’s really set on becoming a veterinarian, which is so dope...but it’s hard to get into vet school, and he’s got that confidence thing, you know?  He probably got that from me...”  He lets out a small laugh. “But I guess that means you haven’t heard anything either?  I dunno, it’s not like him to get that high...I was just thinking that he might’ve said something to you...”

Aw man.  This is just so hard on you.  You feel like shit.  “Nope,” you lie through your teeth.  Straight up dropping lies on good friends. This whole thing has you all sinking low.

“I guess I’ll just ask him then...it hurts to see the little guy so stressed out, you know? If you can do anything to cheer him up a bit, I’d appreciate it...besides getting him blazed out of his mind, I mean.” He laughs again.

“Yeah,” you say, “I can do that.”

“Bangarang,” he says. “Thanks, Meenah.”

“No problem.”

You watch him meander back to the school building, keeping your back against the wall in case Damara tries to get the drop on you.  She doesn’t. You don’t hear any movement coming from around the corner.  You weren’t planning to confront her, but now that she knows you followed her, you might as well.  As soon as Rufioh is out of sight, you swing yourself around the corner.  Damara barely glances in your direction.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snarl with more venom than you intend.  Damara inhales smoke into her lungs and releases it in a white mass before she answers.

“何の問題?”*

“English, bitch. E’ryone knows you speak it.”

“英語はめんどくさい.”**

You lunge forward and grab hold of her shirt, slamming her back into the concrete wall.  “I don’t know why you’re terrorizing Lil’ Nitram, but you wadin’ into dangerous waters.  I’m not cool with that shit.  I _will_ fuck you up.”

“彼の事が好きです. それは犯罪のか?”***

You glare at her. She looks back at you with a crafty look in her lidded eyes, as though she’s thinking something up in her sick brain.  “This ain’t no game,” you hiss.  “An innocent kid’s got no place in any of this, and I’m not about to let you use rape to level any playing field.  If you got a problem, you bring it to _me_.”

“なんでこんなに怒っていますか?” she asks with ice in her eyes.  “あなたには関係もありません.  彼を地雷にならせる場合, どしてあなたが気になります?”****

“Shut up,” you say, but you release her shirt.  “I’m gonna beat the shit outta you for what you did, but not here.  I can’t get expelled.  But you best watch your back and stay clear of Lil’ Nitram. We got eyes on you.”

You turn and head back to the cafeteria.  Hopefully that’ll be enough to stop any future issues, but you can’t say.  Damara is fucked up.

 

Meenah leaves you. You finish your joint.

Meenah wants to start a war with you over Tavros.  She’s taking it personally.  She's even helping him hide his involvement with you. How interesting. You never imagined she would care this much.  You must have struck a nerve.

You smile.  You’re always willing to fight a war with Meenah. But this time, you’re the one with the emotional leverage, aren’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damara translation:
> 
> *What problem?"  
> **"English is irritating."  
> ***"I like him. Is that a crime?"  
> ****"Why are you this angry? It has nothing to do with you. Why do you care if I make him mine?"


	6. Cut down

Vriska slams your locker shut with a loud bang that almost stops your heart.  You flinch and look up at her.  She’s masking an angry glare with a sneer.

“So, Tavros, are you going to skip RP club again today?” she asks.

“Um...” you say. She groans.

“Really?  _Really_? You haven’t gone for two weeks! We were in the middle of a campaign!  Do you know how hard it is to change _everything_ just because you’re being a huge wet blanket?  What gives, Toreasnooze?”

You drop your eyes. Vriska is so loud, you know the people around you must be listening.  You hate bringing attention to yourself anymore.  “I, um, have a study session, so...”

“With _Cronus Ampora_?” Vriska asks, and her eyes grow narrow.

“Uh...yes.”

“Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?  If you _really_ wanted to study with someone, it wouldn’t be Eridan’s _brother_.  He’s not that smart, not to mention he’s an absolute slimeball.  He’d hit on anything that moves, including you.  He’s either hooking you up with drugs, or the two of you are fucking. Are you secretly dating him or something?”

Your face falls in disgust. “What?  No!”

“You know what I think, Tavros?” she says without missing a beat.

“No...?”

“ _I_ think you’re hanging around Cronus to get back at me for messing around with Eridan!”

“ _What?”_

She leans over you and pokes a finger into your chest.  “I know you’re jealous!  But really, I never expected _this_. I don’t know _what_ you’re doing with Cronus, but both Eridan and I agree that it’s suspicious and weird.  _Studying_?  Yeah, sure.”

You stare at her, an inexplicable heat rolling in your chest.  She’s accusing you of having sex with Cronus to get back at her for sleeping with Eridan?  That’s...exactly the kind of thing you’re trying to avoid.  How could she accuse you of something like that? How is that a thing that’s common enough to be suspicious?  Why do people _do_ that to each other? “That’s not it,” you say, and you’re surprised at how angry you sound.  Wow, you’re _really_ angry.

“Then what _is_ it?  _Why_ have you been avoiding us like the plague?  Are you too good for us now?”

“I’m not going to tell you, because it’s none of your business,” you say.  You’re growing waspish.  You want her to stop yelling at you in the middle of the hallway when everyone is around to hear.

“Oh, sure,” she says, and she’s getting angry, too.  “You know, if it wasn’t suspicious enough that you’re ditching all your long-time friends to hang out with a sleazy greaser wannabe, it’s even more suspicious that you’re avoiding the subject.  If you think you’re going to make _me_ jealous with this stupid—“

“I wouldn’t do that, okay!” you snap, and the volume of you voice startles you.  You just... _yelled_ at Vriska Serket, in the hallway, in front of everyone. Your boiling anger is sucked back into the center of your chest like there’s a black hole eating it all up, leaving only a shaky feeling of hollow panic and shame.  “Sorry,” you say quickly, running your hand through your hair.  “I’ve just—I’ve been really struggling in my biology class lately, which is bad because of the career I want to pursue, so I’m just...stressed out and upset.” You don’t look at Vriska for her reaction.  You can tell by the pregnant pause following your words that she’s either shocked or mad.

“Whatever,” she finally says, and she walks away.  You deflate. A familiar fatigue settles into your body.  You don’t even jump when the locker next to you shuts.

“Tavros?”

You look up. Rose Lalonde, your locker neighbor, studies your face.  You didn’t think you could deflate any more than you just did, but you do.  “Sorry for being loud,” you say, but you know that’s not why she’s looking at you.

Rose sits next to you in biology.  You sometimes watch her doodle weird, unsettling tentacle monsters in her notebook.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” she says, “but if I recall correctly, you’ve been doing quite well in biology. You’ve certainly passed every test to date.”

“It’s, um...the homework. I’m behind.”

She knows you’re lying. She takes your homework from you every day to pass it up to the front of the room.  She sees the grades you get on your assignments. Sometimes you compare answers.

She continues to examine your face.  Her scrutiny makes you feel vulnerable and transparent, like you’re a lab rat she’s about to cut open and dissect.  “If you’re having difficulties, in biology or otherwise, contact me,” she finally says. “You may acquire my contact information from Dave.  He misses you, by the way.”

You feel exhausted. “I know,” you say. “And thanks.  And...please don’t tell anyone.”

“I have nothing to tell,” she says.  Her eyes probe your face one last time before she turns away to go to class.

Your last classes passes in a gray haze.  You just want to go home. You text Cronus as much as soon as the bell rings.

“So we’re going to your place today, champ?” Cronus says as he swings by your locker. You nod.  He at least attempts to hide his disappointment.

Cronus isn’t that bad. Yeah, he does suck a little bit. He sometimes says things that are pretty shitty, and he doesn’t really get that you have no interest in any of the women you’ve been forced to deal with lately.  And, yeah, he does sometimes induce overwhelming waves of guilt and shame in you with a misplaced comment here and there about your affiliation with Damara.  But he knows about it.  You don’t have to pretend it never happened.  You don’t have to force yourself to smile or pretend to be interested in stuff you used to love.  You can mope around and he only sometimes makes you feel like you’re being unreasonable. Even though you two don’t share any interests and you’re pretty sure he thinks you’re boring, being around him doesn’t exhaust you as much as being around people at school does.

Meenah is the only person that clears away the gray for any amount of time.  She doesn’t come by every day, but she texts you sometimes.  She gets it. She knows that you’re not feeling well and doesn’t make you feel bad about it.  She’s the only person in the world who really understands why it’s so hard for you to be the way you were before.

You wonder how long this will go on.  How long Cronus will sit at your house and Meenah will shadow Damara.  How long they’ll hold your hand until they give up on you, until your dejection wears out its welcome.  The idea of it scares you.  It also makes you guilty.  But, at the same time, you almost wish they would leave you alone, because their constant vigilance puts you on edge.

If they’re still watching you and Damara, it means they think it’ll happen again.  You always used to think that Damara was harmless. Yeah, there were the rumors that she almost ran over your brother, but that was a crime of passion, right? And she was in a car, which is a dangerous thing when used as a weapon.  She’s not always in a car.  But the way they guard you, the way they talk about Damara, it makes you feel like she’s some sort of monster, waiting to jump out of your closet or climb through your window at night, holding zip ties and knives.  She doesn’t feel human in your mind anymore. Before, your depression made you sleep for hours and hours, but now you can hardly fall asleep. You don’t think you could ask someone to keep you company through the whole night, so you stare at the ceiling and hope someday it’ll all go away.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, sport?” Cronus asks as he follows you into your house. You don’t really know why he asks. You’re probably going to play minecraft, and he’s probably going to mess around on garageband. You say as much. “Excellent idea!” he says, and he pulls out his laptop.

You sigh and turn on your xbox.  Minecraft is mostly mindless, and the music is soothing.  It’s not your usual taste in games, but you actually like it a lot. You even get Cronus to play with you sometimes.  That’s almost fun.

The familiar buzz of music leaks from Cronus’s headset as you place torches around a huge cavern. You don’t play on survival mode anymore because the zombies kept giving you panic attacks when they suddenly appeared, but you still like to mine and explore more than you like to build. Although you are thinking about making some tree houses in the forests.  That’d be pretty cool, you think.

Rufioh won’t be home from practice until late.  As you near dinner time, you think about what you’ll make to eat.  Cronus is lazy when it comes to food, but he gets grumpy when he’s not fed.  Meenah also complains when you don’t eat, probably because your appetite suffered for most of last week.  You’re doing better now, though.

You pause your game and turn to Cronus.  “What do you want to eat for dinner?” you ask.  He can’t hear you through his headset.  You throw a pillow at him.

“What?” he asks, irritated.

“What do you want to eat?” you ask again.

“Hot pockets,” he answers. You roll your eyes.

“We don’t have any.”

“What?  But you did the other day.”

“Yeah, and then we ate them all.” By which you mean he ate them all. You only ate one.

He groans and pushes himself off the couch.  “I guess we’ll just have to see what you got,” he says.  He strolls into the kitchen and opens the freezer.

You move to join him, but your text tone sounds from your phone on the coffee table.  You pick it up, expecting it to be Rufioh or Meenah, maybe even Aradia.  Aradia’s been pretty nice to you lately, as though she can sense that you’re floundering. You’re grateful for that. But the number on the screen isn’t in your contact list.  There’s no text in the message either.  Just a picture.  You unlock your phone and pull up the message, and your heart stops beating.

It’s a pregnancy test. And it’s positive.

 

Damn, the Nitrams really need to go shopping.  There’s practically nothing to eat in their house.  You open the cupboards, finding a few cans of vegetables, some pasta noodles, some soup...nothing you want to eat.  It figures the kid would want to hang out in his own house when it’s been cleaned out.  Maybe you’ll wait until you get home to make dinner.

Oh, wait, Meenah’ll get on your case if you don’t make sure the kid eats something.  You’ve never seen anyone shower attention onto someone like she showers Tavros every time she drops by.  Everything that comes out of her mouth when she talks to you is about “Lil’ Nitram.”  It’s been driving you crazy.  When _you_ act melancholy, she just shrugs you off or makes fun of you.  Even when you pretend to be suicidal.  You can’t do a thing right to get any positive, constant attention from anyone.  Maybe you should try getting raped one of these days. 

“Hey, squirt! How about you make us some pasta,” you call.  You hear a loud clack in the tv room, and he darts past the kitchen into the hallway. He’s pretty fast on those wheels. You glance after him, but you’re not concerned until you hear him heave into the toilet.  What, is he sick?  That’s pretty sudden.  “You all right in there?” you ask.  He doesn’t answer.  You can hear him gag from the kitchen.

You peek into the tv room. His phone is on the edge of the table, and he has his text messages pulled up.  With another glance down the hallway, you slink over and take a look.

 _Oh_. Oh wow.  Yeah, that’s not good.  What shit luck.

You can hear him move from the bathroom into his bedroom.  He doesn’t come down the hall.  Shit. This is _so_ out of your comfort zone.  Meenah had better be pretty damn happy you were willing to take this job, because you would _not_ bother dealing with this otherwise.  You exhale an explosive sigh and plod down the hallway.

He’s sitting by the edge of his bed.  Just sitting. Not really doing anything. You knock on the door, and he flinches but doesn’t turn around.  “Hey there, kid,” you say, taking a step in.  “I saw that message you got.  How you holding up?”

He doesn’t answer. You move around him to sit on his bed so you can see his face.  His eyes are ringed with red.  His hands are clamped together in his lap.  He looks up at you as you plop down on his mattress, and his eyes are glassy with tears.  As soon as you make eye contact, he inhales sharply and bites his lip, trying to hold it in, but a tear still manages to roll from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” you say. “That’s some tough shit.” Fuck, this is dumb. Why were you the designated baby sitter?  As much shit as you talk about being sensitive and wanting to be there for others, you’re not and you don’t.  This isn’t your thing. Where’s Meenah when you need her?

He opens his mouth and closes it and takes a huge, gross sniff.  “I...” he finally chokes out, but as soon as the word leaves his throat, he breaks down.  Wrenching sobs, tears, snot, the whole works.  He puts his hands to his face, but you can still hear the way he gasps for breath, like he can’t breathe.

What do you do? Do you...pat him on the shoulder? Rub his knee a little? No, wait, he probably wouldn’t feel that, so the gesture of sympathy would be lost on him. Maybe you should tell a joke? Do you know any pregnancy jokes?

“What do I _do_?” he sobs through his hands.  “What do I _do_? I can’t...I can’t take care—I don’t have any money, and I’m disabled, so—what jobs are here that—and—what about college?  I wanted to—and now everyone will _know_ , and—and _Rufioh_ , he’ll—but—why is she doing this to me?  Why is—why is she _doing_ this, I thought we—I thought we were friends!  I never did anything to—“

To your absolute horror, he begins to hyperventilate.  Oh, god, he is going to _pass out_ , and you’ll have to try explaining that to Meenah.  “Hey, hey, hey,” you say, taking his hands from his face. “Here, put your hands together and put them in front of your mouth like—yeah, just like that. Okay, let’s calm down a bit, alright, champ?  Let’s even out that breathing.  Nice, deep breathes. There you go.  _There_ you go, that’s it...”

You make a show of breathing with him, inhaling deeply and exhaling just as deep, until he can keep up with you.  You keep doing it for a while after.  Little tears keep falling from his eyes.  He looks so tired.  His face is the perfect mask of defeat.

He slumps back into his chair. You wait for something to happen. Nothing happens. He just sits there and weeps quietly to himself.

Wow, this is pathetic. You actually feel bad.

“Okay, kid. Come here.”  You lean forward and pick him out of his chair long enough to transfer him to his bed, and you scoot in next to him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders.  He’s got a lot of filling out to do.  He’s pretty young, come to think of it.  Sixteen?  Maybe even fifteen? 

You’re suddenly hit with the severity of this situation.  This kid is way too young to be having a baby.  Damara’s about to graduate in the spring, and you bet with a body like hers she could find herself a nice job working a desk somewhere. But this kid?  You bet he’s right.  It’s gonna be tough for a crippled fifteen year old to land a job that pays well enough to raise a baby.  You don’t see people in wheelchairs working anywhere.  Maybe Walmart?

So that’s this kid’s future now.  Walmart. Yeah, okay, you can forgive the tears.

You’re startled slightly when he speaks.  “What am I going to tell Rufioh?” he asks.  You don’t have an answer to that question.

“Let’s worry about that when it comes up,” you say.  He wipes his face and, after a second of hesitation, leans against you. You sigh.  You always get the shit end of things. “Tell her to get an abortion,” you say.

He cringes. You don’t think he’s going to answer, but he eventually says, “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why?” you say with a note of disdain.

“It’s her body.”

“Yeah, and it’s _your_ bastard kid, and if all this really is what you and Meenah have been making it out to be, it’s fine to abort it.  It’s a rape baby, right?”

You can feel his shoulders move when he sighs.  “Boys can’t get raped though, right?  It’s my fault if I had sex with her, because I was attracted to her and enjoyed it well enough to ejaculate.”

...Fuck.  You’re pretty sure he’s repeating things you’ve probably said one way or another.  And you’re pretty sure you believe those things.  You’re pretty sure those things are at least somewhat true. True enough for a courtroom, at least.

His breathing is growing shallow again.  “Am I...am I going to have to be with Damara forever?” he asks.  You’re surprised to feel his arm loop around your waist, and he buries his face into your shoulder.  His sobs aren’t destroying him this time, though.  They’re light, just enough to shudder through his body.

“...If she gets you for child support, you might have to deal with her for a while.  Sorry, kid,” you say.  This is a surreal feeling.  You’ve never felt this kind of connection to another human being before. He’s hugging you like you’re the only thing keeping him from floating away, and it actually feels appropriate to pull him closer to you.  It feels appropriate to stroke his hair, and you do.  He begins to calm down.

“She scares me,” he whispers, so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

“Oh, c’mon, sport! How bad can she be?” you say, rubbing his arm a little.  Yeah...‘she only nearly killed your brother in a jealous rage and gets into fights with Meenah on a regular basis!’  You don’t say that.  You’re pretty sure he’s got that on his mind already.

“Maybe...I should just date her,” he says.  “If I’m nice to her, maybe she won’t be cruel anymore.”  Wow, _that_ sounded defeated. Every time you think he can’t sound any worse, he does.  Where’s the end to the gloom?  You didn’t know people could get this low.  Your own attempts to garner sympathy attention from others suddenly feel rather shallow.

“Don’t date her,” you say. You probably wouldn’t have given him that advice a week ago, but you’re starting to change your mind.

“She’s pregnant. With my...”

“She’s a slut! It could be anyone’s.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Don’t date her,” you repeat. You shift enough to pull your phone out of your pocket, trying not to jostle Tavros too much.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Texting Meenah. We’ll see if she can do something about this.”  You can guess what that “something” might be.  You’ll try not to think about it too much.


	7. Fire up

You knew she’d come. She is Tavros’s knight in shining armor now, isn’t she?  Protector of the weak clan that is the Nitrams, who can’t stand up for themselves or fix their own problems.  You are the destroyer of Nitrams, and she is their guardian.  How strange that this would be the conflict that brings you together.

Despite your constant malevolence, the Nitrams mean less to you now than they ever did.  Once the architect of your disillusionment, they are now nothing more than collateral in your tempest.  You are free, absolutely free, and they suffer for your selfishness.  But they are not the origin of it anymore. 

You like to believe that. That is freedom. You are bound to no one. You are Chaos.

You leave your foster home as soon as you send the text, telling your foster mother that you’ll be in the park if anyone asks for you.  The plump woman is worried.  It’s so late, she says.  But she lets you go.  She is kind to you, even if she cannot handle you.  You like her better than the other guardians you and your sister have had. Much better than the white man in the white suit, with his house full of clocks and pompous sense of omnipotence.  You hated him. He liked to turn humans into tools for his own gain.  He acted inappropriately towards young girls.  Someday you’d like to find him and kill him.

You grab a length of lead pipe from the garage.  Your foster father keeps these things around.  You think he’s in the mafia.  Maybe he’ll let you join after you graduate.

The only people in the park after sundown are drug addicts and prostitutes.  You fit right in.  Meenah will have no trouble finding you here.

It takes her an hour to locate you.  You recognize her car before she knows you can see her.  When she cuts the gas and turns out the lights, you see her reach into the back seat for something.  A baseball bat.  You’re not disappointed.

“こんばんは,”* you greet her as she approaches.  You hold the lead pipe away from your body so she knows you have it. You want her to realize that you’re as serious as she is.  You have a taste for blood because of her.  The least you can do in return for the bloodlust she gave you is indulge her.

“I’m not here to chat,” she says, resting the bat against her shoulder.  “You preggers?”

“いいえ,” you say.  “嘘でした.  冗談だけです.  笑いましたか?”**

“Bitch, if you don’t start speaking English at me, I’m just gonna whoop your ass now,” she says. You suppose you can humor her. It’d be no fun if you didn’t let her in on the joke.

“Not pregnant,” you say. Even in the dark, you can see the surprise on her face.  You smirk.  “Joke only. Very funny.  Ha ha.”

“That’s your idea of a joke?” she says.  She’s so easy to anger. What does she have at stake? Nothing of value, you’re sure.

“Relax.  Smoke with me.”  You pull a joint from the hidden pocket in your skirt.

“I ain’t here to get high with you,” she says.

“Then let’s fuck.” You know she’ll never take you up on that offer, but you would like her to.  You want to touch her.  You want that power over her.  She’d be pretty during an orgasm.

“Cut the shit,” she says with a growl.  “I knew you wasn’t done when you went quiet.  I don’t know why you decided to hang back for the past two weeks, but I don’t like this trend.  I’mma ask you one more time why you terrorizing Lil’ Nitram when he’s done _nothing_ to you, and if I don’t like your answer, I’mma bash your skull in.  If I do like your answer, I’ll only break your legs.”

An ultimatum. You know she won’t do either of those things.  You’ll both leave with the same level of damage if you decide to fight tonight.  It’s time to make this conflict more interesting.

“Your fault,” you say. You don’t try to contain your wicked smirk.  “You hurt me. I hurt you.”

Her hand tightens around the handle of the bat.  “If you wanted to hurt me, you knew where to find me.  I don’t got nothin’ to do with Lil’ Nitram.”

Of course she doesn’t. Tavros has nothing to do with her. You simply wanted to fuck him, and he let you.  And he’ll keep letting you, because he’s a coward.  You’re sure if you were actually pregnant, he would marry you as soon as he were legal. You would only have to ask. He would give into you the same way he gave into your advances.  And the look on his face would be delicious.  But you’re not pregnant, and you don’t want to marry him.

Now, you want to fuck shit up. You want to fuck Meenah up. And she’s practically giving you the bullet you’re going to shoot her with.

“You had nothing to do with me,” you say.  It’s such a pain to pretend to be incompetent in English.  But it’s all part of the illusion.  Another barrier to keep meddlers at bay.  “Nothing to do with Rufioh.  You hurt me.  I am me because you made me.  To defend Rufioh.  He deserved punishment.  But you meddled. Why?” 

“’Cuz you crazy, you stupid whore!” she says.

“You broke me,” you say. You hiss the words for emphasis. It’s all a play now. You’re enacting a drama. “I was sweet.  You made me into monster.  Now, I make him into monster.  I make everyone into monster.  Evil makes evil.  You should have cared for me.  No one loves me now, because of you.  Everything is _your fault_.”

“If you think I’mma fall for some dramatic bullshit about how I should feel bad for your insanity, you’d better start running.”  She takes the bat from off her shoulders.  Blood will be shed tonight.  The thought makes your heart beat faster.  But you’re not done planting your seed of dissonance.

“ _You_ broke me,” you say.  You adjust your grip on the pipe.  “Evil breeds evil.  _Your_ fault.  You know it.  That’s why you responsible.  That’s why you guard Tavros.  You know it your fault.  You know it happen again as long as you care.”

“I don’t know nothin’,” she snarls, and she lunges.  You parry the blow.  The shock hurts your hands, and you grin.  It will be you who lands the first hit.

 

Cronus snores when he sleeps. You don’t know when he fell asleep.  You thought about waking him up so he could go home, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You need his presence next to you. His heat is soothing. The sound of his breathing makes you feel less alone.  Even though he’s asleep and he’ll never understand what’s happening and he’ll probably forget you exist as soon as he graduates, he’s keeping you grounded right now. Because you feel like you’re drowning, and something in your mind tells you that you’re dangerously close to suffocation.

Not for the first time tonight, you reach out and touch Cronus’s arm.  You’re not alone.  You’re not alone. Someone stronger than you is here to help you.  That’s the whole reason he’s here.  He’s here to help you.

The moon is full tonight, and the light is streaming through your window.  You’ve been watching the sky move.  When you were younger, you used to keep your window open, just in case Peter Pan showed up to take you to Neverland.  You didn’t want to grow up.  You wanted to fight with pirates, fly with fairies, play beneath waterfalls with mermaids.  At some point, though, you stopped leaving your window open, maybe because you stopped being afraid of adulthood.  You began to dream of becoming a vet, of maybe meeting someone nice and falling in love, maybe having a kid or two that you could introduce to tabletop games and LARPing.  They would like Peter Pan, too, you’re sure. 

Now, you want to fly away to Neverland more than ever before.  You feel like you’re floating outside of your body.  You want to leap through your window and never come back.  You’re not ready to be an adult.  You can’t.  You can’t handle it.

But you leave your window closed, because you’re afraid someone might crawl through it when you’re sleeping. There are plenty of bars around your bed you could be tied to.  Almost as though it’s happening now, you feel a ghost pain cut down on your wrists. Your heartbeat quickens. Damning images flash through your mind.  Waves of panic and terrible arousal slide through your body, and you can’t breathe.  You reach over and touch Cronus’s arm. He snorts in his sleep, and you will yourself to calm down.

You’re not alone. You’re safe.  Someone stronger than you is here to help you.

Until the baby comes. Then, everyone will know. They’ll ostracize you. All your friends will talk behind your back.  Vriska will never speak to you again.  Aradia...you had sex with Aradia’s sister.  You’re the father to her sister’s child.  How would she feel about that?  You push down the bile rising in your throat.

There’s really nothing you can do, is there?  This is it. You’re not alone, but you will be. You’re safe, but you won’t be. No one can save you from this. This is it.

Something taps on your window.

You freeze. Your heart stops beating. Your breathing stops. Your whole body seems to shut down for several agonizing seconds so you can concentrate entirely on listening. After a beat of silence, the tapping returns, more urgent than before.

You latch down on Cronus’s arm.  “Cronus,” you hiss. Now your heart’s racing. Your mind is a pressurized mass of white noise and panic.  The edge of your vision is blurring.  The room is twisting in and shrinking and _someone is at your window trying to get in_.  “Cronus!”

He wakes up with a grunt and blinks at you.  “Wha—?” he says, but you grab onto him.

“Someone’s at the window,” you hiss.  Your desperation takes him aback.  He’s suddenly alert.

“What?”

He leans over you. You try to scramble under him to the edge of the bed.  You watch him, breathing heavily, ready to topple off and roll underneath the bed if you have to.  He cups his hands against the glass and looks out.

“Oh,” he says, and to your horror, he opens the window.  You hold your breath.  But it’s only Meenah. She hauls herself up and over the windowsill, wincing as she draws her leg through.  She’s covered in dirt and what looks to be blood. You hope it’s not blood. “What the hell happened to you?” Cronus asks.

“What the hell you think happened?” she snaps, taking off her muddy shoes and dropping them on the floor. “I got the shit beat outta me with a pipe.”

“And?” he asks.

“And _what_?”

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” you say.  You need to move. Your adrenaline is making you feel shaky.  You transfer yourself into your chair and navigate your way to the door.

“Hey, yo, kid, wait a second,” Meenah says, and you pause.  She looks you in the eye.  “The bitch ain’t pregnant.  She was lying for some godawful reason.  You can calm down about that.”

It takes a moment for you to respond, and your body does before your mind.  Relief plows into you like a literal wave. You didn’t even know you could feel this way.  It’s like your whole body was a mass of knots and tangles, and those few words are slowly undoing all of them.  You can’t even speak.  You nod, open the door, and continue to the bathroom.  In your mind is a chorus of “she’s not pregnant, she’s not pregnant, she’s not pregnant.”

You pull the first aid kit out of the cupboard beneath the sink.  Your mind finally processes “she’s not pregnant.” You begin to cry.

 

“So, what, did you...you know?” Cronus says as soon as the kid’s out of the room.  He looks almost afraid to ask.

“What?”

“ _You know_...get rid of the fetus, so to speak.”

“I literally just said the bitch was lyin’.”

His eyebrows fly up. “Oh, so she really _was_ lying?”

“Why would I say she was lying if that wasn’t what she did?”

“I don’t know! To protect the kid from an awful truth.”

You wince as you shift into a more comfortable position.  “Right now, I don’t even care.  I give no fucks about that shit.  I’d straight up confess to beating her unholy spawn right outta her if that’s what I did. It’d serve her right.”

He frowns. “Well, don’t.  I don’t think he’d like that.”

“Good, ‘cuz it’s not what I did!” Why do you have to deal with Cronus right now?  Isn’t he usually in his own house by this time of the night?  “What’re you doing here?” you ask.

He furrows his brow like he doesn’t even fucking know.  “I guess I fell asleep,” he says.

“You _guess_?”

“Look, Meenah, I have had a _very_ exhausting day, after dealing with that harrowing ordeal.  I’ve been here holding the kid’s hand since she sent that text.  Do you even _know_ how difficult it is to walk someone through that sort of situation?”

You roll your eyes and say, “Shut up.  Like I don’t know you’re exaggerating.”

“I should be asking _you_ what _you’re_ doing here,” he says with a sudden air of accusation. “I swear, when he woke me up to you tapping on the window, he looked like he had seen a ghost! Could you _be_ any more tactless?  Not to mention how suspicious it would be for you to visit him in the middle of the night alone!”

“Lay off,” you say, scowling. “Like I’m about to go home lookin’ like a bag of tenderized meat.  Besides, I thought the kid might be interested to hear he won’t be fathering any demon children any time soon.”

 “Hmph,” Cronus says, but he doesn’t argue or bitch, which is surprising.  Not that you have the energy to care.  You were doing pretty good on the way over, pumped full of endorphins and adrenaline and doing 90mph down the highway, but now you’re coming down from the battle high and your injuries are really starting to get painful.  Tavros still hasn’t come back from the bathroom.

“What’s takin’ him so long?” you grumble.

“Give the kid a break. He’s crippled,” Cronus says. You throw him a look because you know he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about that.  What a hypocrite.  With a grimace, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and sneak to the bathroom, careful not to wake Rufioh up.  The kid’s sitting there with the door open, forehead resting against the sink, quietly crying.

“Yo,” you say. He wipes his eyes before looking up at you.

“Oh, uh, sorry, I was...I got the first aid kit,” he says, and he waves it at you.  He smiles, though.  That’s probably a good sign.

“Cool.  It’s better we take care’a this in here anyway,” you say, and you close the door.  “You got any painkillers in here?”

“In the cabinet,” he says, pointing up at the mirror.  You search through them until you find some ibuprofen, which you swallow dry before moving to the toilet.  You drop the seat and plop down with a groan.

“So, um...you fought?” Tavros says, opening up the kit.  You doubt he knows what he’s doing with any of those medical supplies, but now’s as good a time as any for him to learn.  You pull off your shirt.  You don’t think a thing about it until you notice the uncertainty on Tavros’s face. Man, you really should try to think more before you do shit.

“Do you know how to tell if a rib is cracked?” you ask.  To your relief, he takes to the distraction pretty well, and the perturbation melts off his face.

“Maybe,” he says, and he comes a little closer.  “I’ve read things about this sort of stuff because of my interest in animal medicine, although I’ve never thought about using that knowledge on humans, and I’m definitely an amateur on the subject.”  He pauses.  “If you think you have broken bones, shouldn’t you go to a hospital?”

“Nah,” you say with a shrug. “They’re just ribs. I’ll feel ‘em up a bit and see if anything feels funky.  How about you take a look at my back for me.  Or my shins.  I’m gonna have to take my pants off, but I got some boxers on.  You cool with that?”

He glances at you with a hint of surprise.  “Oh, yeah, if that’s what you need to do.  And, uh...thanks for asking first.”

“Ain’t no thang,” you say, and you slip out of your baggy jeans.  Yeah, you’re going to be covered in bruises.  Damara could’ve broken your jaw or punctured a lung, but she didn’t. You bet she didn’t want to deal with the clean-up.  But you also get the nagging feeling that she has other motives.

She said this was all ‘your fault.’ Yeah, right.  For what?  For standing up for Rufioh when he was too much of a chicken shit to get her off his case?  For standing up for Tavros when she raped him?  How the hell is any of that your fault?

‘Evil makes evil’ is what she said.  ‘You made me into a monster.’  Okay. Maybe you can see where she’s going with that.  You made fun of her.  It pissed her off enough to flip her shit.  But that doesn’t make it _your fault_ that she’s batshit insane.  People don’t just fly off the handle like that.  Hell, Serket the younger was hard as hell on Lil’ Nitram, but he’s not out raping and stealing or whatever else Damara does in her free time.  People don’t go insane because their boyfriend cheated on them and someone else pushed them around a bit.  Something else must have been going on with her. She was a barrel of dynamite waiting to explode before you ever got to her.  That’s really the only explanation.

One thing she said does bother you, though.  ‘You know it’ll happen again as long as you care.’  _That_ makes you nervous. You thought she was trying to get back at Rufioh, but it was really about you this whole time? What’s her damage? What is she trying to _accomplish_?  Lil’ Nitram ain’t shit to you.  At least, he wasn’t when she first ripped into him.

You hiss as Lil’ Nitram disinfects a large gash on your shoulder.  Yeah, okay, so now he’s kind of shit to you.  He kind of matters.  You’re in deep with him, but not because you care about _him_.  You do care, but mostly you’re involved because the shit Megido is pulling ain’t cool. It’s not really about Tavros at all.  Anyone with a conscience would step up to defend an innocent kid the way you have. No one else is on his side. You’re the kid’s only hope.

And suddenly it’s clear to you what game Damara is playing.  She’s not doing this because of who Nitram is at all.  It is all about you.  She knows you care and that you’re on your own. She’s isolated you by making this a huge secret.  She’s tearing Nitram down in a way she knows he won’t tell, and you hopped right onto that bandwagon like an idiot.  This _is_ between you and her. And she’s got you on strings, dancing to her music, because she knows you’re going to keep playing as long as Tavros is vulnerable.

What a huge cunt. You should’ve killed her. But the kicker of it is that you know you can’t just kill her.  As much shit as you talk, you know that you can’t just stick a bullet in her and throw her in a river.  You’re both evenly matched, and you have a future to lose.  And she knows that.

You’re going to have to figure out a way to end this.  It’s not your style, but the way Damara was talking, she wants to turn this into a mind game.  You’re gonna have to find someone to help you play Megido’s game without risking what you do have left to lose.  Maybe you can find the part of her that made her an explosion waiting to happen before you ever got involved and exploit that.  You don’t know how, but it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damara translation:
> 
> * Good evening  
> ** No. It was a lie. It's just a joke. Did you laugh?


	8. Dive in

Ugh, you should have stayed home today.  Your night at the Nitrams’ took its toll on you.  Even though you went home after Meenah showed up, you didn’t get as much sleep as you need to maintain your carefully manicured appearance.  You must have the most hideous bags under your eyes. Not to mention the strange sense of displacement that’s been following you since your cuddle session with Tavros. It’s like the whole thing is actually _bothering_ you.  _Really_ bothering you.  You find the idea unsettling.  The only reason you’re involved in this fiasco is to land a date with Meenah. You don’t want to experience _emotions_ about it. You’ll start to willingly go the extra mile and then end up like Meenah—sporting more bruises than you can cover. She might be fine with that, but you’re not.

You slump into your fifth period class and drop your books onto your desk.  Mituna says something rude to you, like he does every day, but you don’t feel like indulging his weird eccentricities.  Dropping into your seat, you release an explosive sigh and fall silent.

“What crammed itself up your ass and died?” Mituna asks.

“I can’t talk about it,” you say.  Any other day, you’d want him to press you for details, but knowing you can’t give any of them out really does kill the buzz.  You sigh again.  “Sometimes being such a nice guy is so—“

You stop talking. Damara is standing in front of your desk.  Even though you’ve been in this class together all semester, she’s never paused to talk to you. She’s wearing as little as she can get away with as usual, but today she’s as bruised up as Meenah. She doesn’t even seem to care. She looks down at you with an expression that makes you suddenly very nervous. 

“Holy shit,” Mituna says, gawking openly at her bruises.  You try to manage a smile.

“Hey, Damara, I see you’re—well, a little worse for the wear, but—“

She slams a hand down on your desk, not hard enough to call everyone’s attention to her but definitely enough to make you jump.  “I am going to office,” she says, slowly and clearly, with her eyes fixed on you. “Tell teacher. Do not tell anyone else. Especially not Meenah.”

She stares you down, and you nod.  But there’s something about her eyes that throws you off.  She almost seems to be challenging you.  Almost _asking_ you to text Meenah.  You swallow and ask, “And what should I tell the teacher you went for?”

She smiles. “To deliver a note. To my _good friend_.”

...What?  Her smile is all ice, and she straightens up, keeping her eyes on you.  Without another word, she turns and struts from the room.  You immediately pull out your phone and text Meenah.

 

You wait at the end of the hallway.  Just as you thought she would, Meenah slips out of the classroom, glancing around like an outlaw. You smirk when she spots you. She’s surprised to see you. Suspicious, for a good reason. She probably thought she would have to search for you.  You knew Cronus would take the bait.  How her spies eat from the palm of your hands.

Look at that pretty mark you left on her face.  A nice, puffy eyelid.  Such a lovely shade of purple.

You turn and saunter around the corner.  You know she won’t stop you.  She’ll just follow from several meters away, keeping an eye on you.  She’ll regret that in a bit.

You lead her to the lunchroom. It’s the sophomore lunch period. She doesn’t have time to react. You’re already weaving between the tables.

 

You almost feel good today, which is really surprising after what happened last night.  You think it’s because you got a good cry in, or maybe it’s the aftermath of the relief you felt when Meenah told you that you weren’t going to have a baby.  Maybe it’s because Meenah spent the night after Cronus left, sleeping on the floor in a mound of blankets and pillows she had collected from across the house. Her presence was even more comforting than Cronus’s.  You were actually able to fall asleep and stay that way for a while.  You hadn’t realized how tired you had become. You woke up in the morning feeling refreshed, and Meenah left your house through the window so Rufioh and your parents wouldn’t find out.  It was a good morning.  Waking up with someone else in your room really whisked away the gloom before it could settle.

You laugh when Terezi tells a joke.  You eat your food. You can look Aradia in the eye knowing that you avoided a terrible fate, a fate you’ll hopefully never have to face again.

“Dude, Aradia, what the hell happened to your sister?” Dave asks.  You freeze.  He’s looking over Aradia’s shoulder, to your right.  You both turn around.

She’s coming. Straight for you. In the _middle of the day_.  Behind her, at the edge of the lunchroom, you spot Meenah, and you think you both have the same expression on your face.

You need to calm down. Clear your face. Play it cool.  You’re at school.  Nothing can happen here.

Damara stops right next to you, and you keep your eyes on your tray, trained on a bit of food you’re pushing around with your fork.  She says something to Aradia in Japanese, and Aradia responds, sounding confused. You don’t think they’re talking about you.  You just need to focus on something else until she goes away.  You begin to count passing seconds in your head to distract yourself.

She leans on your chair. Her ass brushes against your arm. Your heartbeat skyrockets. But this shouldn’t be weird, right? You’ve hung out with the Megidos since you were little.  No one would think it’s weird for Damara to lean on your chair like this. You just need to remember to breathe.

She leans back a bit, and her hand comes to rest nonchalantly on the table in front of your tray. The edge of a piece of paper sticks out from beneath her palm.  When she moves her hand, she leaves the note.  It’s for you.

 

Fuck this conceited box of cunts! You cannot even fucking believe—how the hell did she find the balls to pull off a stunt like this? Is this her game? Is _this_ how she’s playing now?

Fuck her, you’re not going to sit on the sidelines and play spectator to her gross sexual harassment. You stomp forward, glaring daggers at her back the whole way over.  The entire sophomore class knows shit’s about to go down.  Everyone’s turning to watch you advance. Even Damara glances over at you as you get closer.  You are going to slap that smug ass smirk right off her goddamn face.  She won’t be so pretty with a broken nose.

She pushes herself off Lil’ Nitram’s chair and slips around to the other side of the table, smirking at you the whole way.  You don’t chase her.  You’re not so low that you’d start running after her whore ass in the middle of the school’s lunchroom. She keeps walking, parading herself right out of the cafeteria like nothing happened.  You stop by Nitram.  There’s a note sitting in front of him that he hasn’t touched. You snatch it up before he can look at it.

“Meenah, what...?” Feferi asks.  Ah, crud, you hate doing this sort of stuff in front of your sweet baby sister, but you’ve got business to attend to.  Everyone else is silent and bewildered as you open the note and scan it. You resist the urge to plant your foot through a chair.  Disgusting bullshit, crap about licking this or that, tying body parts up, dripping hot wax onto skin, whips and chains, some other shit you don’t even _want_ to know about—this note is definitely a threat that was meant for you as much as it was for Lil’ Nitram. Damn, if he had read this, you don’t even know what would’ve happened.

This is just too much. She’s too bold. Either she’s trying to get him to slip so this whole deal becomes public, or she wants _you_ to feel how little she holds sacred.  You suspect it’s both.  And the impudent bitch is getting exactly what she wants. You can feel all the little sophomores’ eyes trained on you, and you’re willing to bet Tavros is going to get a question or two before the end of the day.  The bitch is trying to start a _war_ , and she thinks she can invite the rest of the whole damn school to take part!

“What’s it say?” Tavros whispers. Sort of.  He’s not a good whisperer.  Not like it matters.  Nobody else is talking.

You chew on the inside of your cheek while you come up with a response good enough to explain all this away. “She’s trying to start shit again,” you finally say.  “She’s got that stick up her vag about your brother.”

It takes him a second to catch on, but thankfully he does.  “Oh, yeah...” he says.

“What’s that got to do with _Tavros_?” Vriska asks. Damn it.

“I don’t read minds,” you say, pocketing the note.  You hope Lil’ Nitram doesn’t ask for it later.

“Did you two get into it last night?” Vriska presses, eyeing your bruises and scrapes.

“What’s it look like?”

“ _Why_?”

You groan. “Girl, you know I love ya, but you gotta learn how to mind your own business.  Me and Megido got history, and history repeats itself. Aight?”

“Yeah, okay, but if you’re going to start getting Tavros involved in your ‘history,’ you might want to back off a bit.”

Aw, shit, she’s got that look on her face.  That Serket look. The ‘I have to get my hands in everything’ Serket look.  The last thing you need is Serket the younger on your case about any of this when Serket the older is already too close for comfort.  Aranea backs off when you tell her to, but Vriska...she’s tenacious and way too volatile.  She’d claw her way right into the heart of the secrets, through Tavros if not through you.

“I got it under control,” you say.  “You worry about yours and I’ll worry about mine.  It ain’t nothin’.”

“Okaaaaaaay...” Vriska says, and she exchanges a look with Terezi, which really is unbelievable to you because blind girls shouldn’t be able to exchange looks.  You huff and turn to leave, but not before you innocuously scoot Lil’ Nitram’s food a little closer so he doesn’t think he’s off the nutrition hook.  Not that it does you any good.  The bell rings seconds later.  You’ll put Cronus on snack duty after school.

Instead of going to your next class, you sneak into the bathroom and hang out in the handicap stall for a good fifteen minutes, rereading the note.  Barf.  If you were on the receiving end of this letter, you’d take a bath with a toaster oven.

You don’t go to class. You go to the office. Damara is nowhere in sight, probably in the back doing some sort of office shit, and you take the opportunity to sneak over to Aranea.  Ignoring her protests, you duck under her desk and squash yourself between her legs, hidden from prying eyes.

“Meenah!” Aranea says, sounding like a mother scolding her brat.  “What are you doing?”

“Yo, keep it down!” you hiss. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to talk to you in private.”

“By hiding under my desk?”

“Now you’re catchin’ on. Is Megido here?”

Aranea pauses, and when she answers, she actually bothers to whisper.  “Yes, she’s in back.”

You groan. “Great.  Hey, without goin’ on and on about stupid shit, I need you to give me some advice.  For real, though, keep it short.”

“Advice about what?” she asks. “Is this about your fight with Damara?  I’m not going to fan that fire.”

“The fire’s already outta control, so you can get down off your high horse,” you say.  “Shit’s gettin’ real.  I mean _really_ real. I think someone other than me’s gonna start gettin’ hurt.  And she’s changed the rules of the game.”

“Someone other than—do you mean Tavros?”

“Shh!” you hiss. “Damn, girl, this is why I can’t tell you anything!  Don’t you got any respect for secrecy?”

“I’m whispering!”

“It don’t matter. We gotta be stricter than ever about this shit.  Curfew-and-dress-codes strict, got it?”

“Like I said before, if he’s getting hurt, you need to find a figure of authority to intervene. Especially if this is getting out of control!”

“Okay, but see, the risk of a figure of authority or anyone else findin’ out is part of the hurt she’s causing.  Get what I mean?”

“No.”

You release a huff. “Okay.  Let me put it this way.  This is all a secret, right?  Well, last hour, that bitch straight up walks right through the middle of the lunchroom to give him a note in front’a all his damn friends, and _that’s_ part of what we tryin’ to avoid.  Make sense?”

Aranea stares down at you with a frown, trying to work through your statement.  She gets what you’re saying, but you know she’s searching for the ‘why.’  You don’t want her to find the ‘why.’  This is why you can’t tell a Serket anything.

“So what advice do you want from me?” she finally asks.  “I’ve been keeping my eye on Damara like you asked, but I don’t think it’s been much help.  What can I do if you refuse to tell me the details?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, shorty,” you say.  “You’ve taken a load of stress off’a me.  I’ll tell you what you need to know about this advice.  You know how me and Megido get at it, right? She’s got me in a tight spot right now.  She’s using Lil’ Nitram like a hostage, and she’s tryin’ to get under my skin with mind games.”

“Kind of like how _you_ got under _her_ skin by holding Rufioh’s infidelity over her head?” Aranea asks, cocking an eyebrow.  Your face falls.

“Why you gotta be like that?” you say, frowning.  “I’m coming to you for serious advice, and you’re turning it on me!”

“It’s true!” she says. “Really, Meenah, you shouldn’t pout like that.  You’ve been hanging around Cronus too much.”

Wow, way to press the buttons. “Okay, fine,” you say. “Like how I held Rufioh over her head.  But this time, we got an innocent on our hands, ‘cuz it’s not like Lil’ Nitram did shit to me to deserve this.  I need ammunition, capisce?  I need something to fight back.  Before she turns this around and ruins everyone’s lives, mine included.”

Aranea sighs. “Meenah, I don’t know how you end up in these situations.”

“Yeah, me neither. I think I’mma retire after this.”

You look up at her, waiting for her take on the situation.  She taps her finger against the desk.  “Have you tried talking to Rose Lalonde?” she asks.

“Who?  The gothy sophomore?”

“Yes, her. She’s interested in psychology and might be able to give you some pointers.  You could also try Vriska and Terezi.  Terezi is good at constructing mind games.”

You grimace. “I already nixed any plans with your sister.  If this were about dragging Megido behind a dumpster and kickin’ the shit outta her, Vris would be my go-to gal, but I can’t let her get involved in this particular issue. Too close to home, what with her history with Nitram.”

Aranea continues to tap her finger against the desk, and her eyes narrow with suspicion.  “Meenah, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask, but did Damara and Tavros...?”

“Nope, not allowed to ask! Just leave it be. The less people in on this, the better.”

“But—”

“Nope!”  You slip out from under the desk.  “Thanks for the advice.  I’ll let you know if it was any good.”

You leave the office before she has time to complain.  Part of you is beginning to think there would be no harm in letting some choice allies in on the secret, that it would take the edge off of Damara’s emotional leverage, but the other part of you keeps reminding you that this is ultimately Nitram’s problem, not yours.  You understand the situation, but that doesn’t mean everyone would.  And if word got out to someone unfortunate...that’d be on you.  No, you still can’t tell. You can’t tell until Nitram gives you a green light, if he ever does.


	9. Tip off

The whole school is abuzz with whatever the hell happened during the sophomore lunch period. Meenah isn’t at her locker gathering her things to go home for the day.  You thrust some papers into your laptop bag and set off to question her about the day’s events, but it takes you longer than you think it would to find her.  She looks like she’s on a mission.  That’s Meenah for you.

“Meenah!” you call, risking your facade of casualty to jog over to her.  “What happened earlier?  Did you get into _another_ fight?”

A look of alarm passes across her face, and she immediately shoves you back.  “What the hell you doin’ followin’ _me_ around, you halfwit?  Go to _Tavros_. _He’s_ your job!”

“What?  He’s fine.  The hallways are full of people,” you say, frowning. 

“He is _not_ fine.  You need to be riding his ass from now until whenever I say you can stop.” She seems agitated. Something’s going on, and she’s not being forthright with you.  It figures.

“Look, Meenah, if the risk level is going up, don’t you think I have the right to know?” you ask. “I mean, I’m not exactly the fighting type.  _I_ don’t want to risk my neck if I can avoid it.”

“Just take him to your house and let him spend the night or something,” she says.  You’re about to respond when she spots someone else and pushes past you.  You turn around. Oh, it’s _Karkat Vantas_.  You see.  You get it.

“Shorty McShoutsalot!” she calls to him, striding over to where he’s standing.  He and that weeaboo sophomore who always wears the cat hat, Meulin’s sister, are putting up posters for his campaign to become class president.  Like anyone actually _cares_.  You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen anyone care about class elections as much as he does.  You huff and follow after her.

“Meenah, we were sort of in the middle of an _important discussion_ ,” you say through gritted teeth.

“And now I’mma start another important discussion with someone else,” she says, gritting her teeth as much as you are, “and _you_ should buzz off and take care of _your responsibilities_ , or our _deal_ will come dangerously close to getting _called off_.”

You glare at her and pout a little bit.  “You know you can’t call anything off _now_ , of all times. You wouldn’t do that to our _mutual friend_.”

“Cronus.  _Amscray_.”

You hesitate, but by the look she’s giving you, you know you’re not going to get anything else out of her. With a sigh, you turn and make your way to the sophomore hallway. 

Tavros isn’t there.

You stand at the end of the hallway, frowning.  A little prick of panic begins to nag at your brain.  Where is he if he’s not by his locker?  He’s always by his locker when you come to get him. You pull your phone out of your pocket and shoot him a text, leaning against the wall to appear like you’re not as unsettled and out of place as you really are.  A few agonizing seconds pass, but he texts you back. He’s waiting outside, he says. He’s with the Striders.

You breathe a sigh of relief and push yourself away from the wall.  You were worried for a bit there.  And being worried worries you.  God, this is getting _way_ too cumbersome for you.  Is a prom date really worth all this trouble?

Not that you’d back out now. Maybe you would. You’ll have to see how much worse things get.  If things start to get dicey, you’ll probably bale.  You’re your own first priority when all is said and done.

You spot him hanging out next to the Strider siblings.  The older one is a grade below you, the younger in the sophomore class. You stroll over to them. “Hey there, sport,” you say, catching Tavros’s attention.  The two Striders turn to look at you.  They’re an unnerving pair, that’s for sure, especially the older one. Cool kids with grade-A poker faces.  Not that you’re at all taken with their aloof airs.  You clear your throat.  “So...what are you doing waiting out here?”

“Oh, uh, we were just gossiping, particularly about what happened with Meenah and Damara during lunch,” Tavros says.  He’s doing that hand thing he does when he’s anxious, but he’s gotten better at keeping his face clean.  Which isn’t saying a lot.

“Do you know anything about that?” Dirk asks.

“Me?” you ask, taken aback. You let out a nervous laugh. “Why would I know? I was in class at the time.”

“You’re taking Meenah to prom, aren’t you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.  “You really don’t know why your prom date is getting into it with another demonstrably dangerous girl?”

“That—wait, how do you know I’m taking her to prom?” you ask.  Your eyes flick to Tavros.  Ah, damn, he’s suspicious now.

“She told Aranea who told Jake who told me,” he says.

“Well, putting _that_ aside, I honestly have no idea what’s going on,” you say. “But that’s the way Meenah operates.  She’s not transparent about this kind of thing.  And she and Damara have that whole history regarding Rufioh...you know how it is.”

He doesn’t say anything. You sense that he’s probing your face.  That’s definitely enough to send you packing.

“Okay, Tavros! How about you and me skedaddle,” you say, laughing nervously.  He nods.  “Great! Let’s go.”

You turn and trust he’s following you.  You load him up into your car, but neither of you say anything until you’re on the road. “We’re going to my house. How’s that sound?” you say, glancing at him.

“Yeah, I think that sounds good,” he says.

“Meenah says she thinks you should spend the night tonight.  How’s that?”

To your surprise, he relaxes a little, as though he’s actually relieved.  “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he says.  Hmm.  Not many people are actually _happy_ to spend time with you.  In fact, you’ve never really had a friend over for the night.  But, given the circumstances, it’s probably not _you_ he really cares about, so...no need to read anything into it.  He’s just anxious as always.  You’re just the bodyguard.

“So,” you say, turning on the radio for background noise, “what _happened_ today?  I’m _so_ out of the loop and it’s driving me crazy.”

He inhales audibly. “Damara came to the lunchroom and gave me a note.  She was pretending to talk to Aradia.  But then, Meenah came to confront her or something like that, and Damara left, and then Meenah took the note.  It was...weird, and suspicious to my friends, and also sort of disconcerting because she’s never done that before.”

That is disconcerting.  So you were right in thinking that she _did_ want Meenah to follow her...?  You don’t know.  Meenah’s the brains, and you’re the lackey.  Take a step back.  “What did the note say?” you ask.

“I don’t know, because Meenah took it.  But, um, by the look on her face when she read it, I don’t think I want to know what it said anyway.”

You glance at him. He glances at you. Look at that eye contact you just shared about something emotionally charged.  “Trust your gut,” you say, and you reach over to pat him on the back.

“Do you know what’s going on?” he asks.  “Because I’m starting to think that things are getting more complicated, and that it’s not just about...what it was before, the same way.”

You frown. “Honestly, champ, I’m trying to stay out of it as much as possible.  And so should you.  They’re big girls and if they want to fight it out, that’s their business. You focus on your own problems.” That sounded almost fatherly. Damn, _take a step back_.  Dad-chic would _so_ not work for you.

He’s quiet for a second. “But, even though Damara and Meenah seem to be focused now on each other more than on me, they are still my problems, a lot.  In fact, I think the problem, with reference to me, is bigger and nastier than it was before, and...I’m really, really nervous.”

And he looks nervous. More than nervous. And as soon as he says it, you feel nervous as well, because you think he’s right.  If Damara’s starting to show off her leverage over Tavros to take stabs at Meenah...things aren’t going to get easier. You grimace and pat him on the back again.  “Meenah’s got it under control.  You and I...we’re our own pod of safety.  Solidarity in numbers, am I right?  I’m here to guard your back.”

He nods and lets out a slow, heavy sigh.  Some time passes, and you don’t think he’s going to speak again, but he does.  “Is it true that you and Meenah are going to prom together?”

“I hate to break it to you,” you say, “but I got to her first.  I can understand why you would have a crush on Meenah, but with a suave guy like me around, it’s hard to come out on top.”

You sneak a peek at him just in time to see him roll his eyes.  _That’s_ new.  Probably?  You never really paid attention before now.  “I’m not interested,” he says.  “But I’m confident enough in my knowledge of the way things are between the two of you to guess that she only agreed to go with you so you would watch me.”

You try to laugh it off. “C’mon, champ, why would you think a thing like that?”  You glance at him, and he’s giving you a look.  “Wow, cheeky today, aren’t we?”

“No, not really, but...” he says, and he exhales through his nose in a way that almost sounds frustrated. “I don’t like that you’re coercing Meenah into being romantic with you by holding my situation over her head.”

The statement floors you. Your mouth falls open, and you struggle for a second to find something to say.  “C’mon, kid, it’s not like _that_. You make it sound so...distasteful.”

“Yeah?” he says. Wow, is he giving you another look?  Where’d all _this_ come from?

“Hey, I am doing you a _favor_ ,” you say, trying not to scowl.

“And I appreciate it, a lot, actually, maybe more than you think I might,” he says quickly. There it is.  That’s the anxiety you know.  He’s just acting tough because...he’s gotten used to you?  Maybe you two really did share a moment during the pregnancy scare.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” you say.  “Do you want the help or not?”

“I...do,” he says. “But...admittedly, for you to use this situation, the situation being the sexual harassment and assault of a person, as a means of forcing someone else into a romantic agreement with you...that’s kind of tacky, don’t you think?”

Were you ever wrong about feeling any concern for this guy.  What a little prick. “Mind your own business,” you say. “I don’t dig into your personal relationships with other people, do I?”

“...No...mostly,” he says.

You pull into your driveway and cut the gas.  Before you get out to retrieve the kid’s chair, you turn to look him in the eye. “Look, if you’re going to spend the night, rule number one is don’t compare me to a crazed rapist, okay?”

“That wasn’t what I was doing,” he says, but you lift your eyebrows and he sighs.  “But okay, I agree to those terms.”

“Good,” you say.

 

Karkat said you should check the library if you want to find Rose Lalonde.  She hangs out there by herself or with Kanaya Maryam until her older sister gets out of robotics club.  You hope she’s by herself.

You find her hidden in the corner behind a bookshelf, immersed in some heavy fantasy-looking novel. She doesn’t look up as you approach, even when you’re standing right in front of her, hands buried in your pocket.  You clear your throat to get her attention.

She glances up at you. “Is this about today’s events?” she asks without any semblance of a greeting.  You frown.

“What makes you think that?” you ask.

“Forgive me for being presumptuous.  You must have trudged this far into the library to stand right in front of me while I read for some other reason.”

Wow, what a sassy bitch. “Okay, you got me. I need some advice.”

“About Tavros Nitram’s secret problem?”

You barely conceal your shock. “No, what?  Why would I—why would this be about Tavros Nitram? Whatever happened in the lunchroom has nothing to do with him.  I hardly even know the kid.  It’s about a totally different, unrelated issue.”

Lalonde finally lowers her book enough to give you a pointed look, eyebrow cocked, lips flat, like you must think she’s some sort of fool.  You try to keep your face blank, but her expression doesn’t bode well. She sets the book down. “Let’s review the evidence,” she says.  “First, two weeks and some days ago, you skip a football game you had promised Feferi you would attend, citing a ‘situation’ you suddenly had to deal with and instructing her to take your car home with the reassurance that you will be able to procure a ride from Cronus Ampora, whom you hate.  Tavros Nitram also misses this game, and his brother comes home to find him asleep at an unusually early hour.  Second, Tavros Nitram comes to school on the following Monday showing acute symptoms of stress, anxiety, disorientation, fatigue, and an expressed loss of interest in his normal activities, which he blames on sickness.  Damara Megido takes him home.  You leave school without explanation. He’s later at your house, where he spends the night, and you are both late to school the next day. Third, for the past two weeks, Tavros’s symptoms continue, including continued anxiety, fatigue, change in appetite, outbursts of irritability, hyper vigilance, exaggerated startle responses, and social withdrawal. Fourth, Tavros suddenly begins to associate with Cronus Ampora, or, rather, Cronus suddenly becomes interested in associating with Tavros.  Fifth, you suddenly agree to go to prom with Cronus Ampora, even though you dislike him.  Sixth, you and Damara get into a fight.  Seventh—“

“Okay, okay, I get it, _damn_ ,” you say, holding your hands up.  “Where the hell did you get all that information?  What are you, the black market of gossip?”

“I listen when people speak,” she says.  “That, and Karkat enjoys gossip.  Kanaya and I indulge him now and then.”

“So, what, everyone knows about all that stuff you just said?”  And you thought you were being sneaky.  All your sneakiness is falling apart right before your very eyes. Rose seems to notice your dismay.

“If you’re concerned about keeping secrets, consider them kept.  I’m sure I’m the only one who’s noticed these patterns, perhaps because I’m the only one who knows what depression—or should I say trauma—looks like when it manifests.  Tavros’s behavior in the past few weeks made me suspicious long before I began to make any connections between supposedly unrelated events.  Unfortunately, most of Tavros’s good friends have gotten personally offended by his withdrawal and would sooner shrug it off as a vain extension of high school politics than question why it’s taking place, which is not an unusual response to a person who changes dramatically for seemingly no reason.  Terezi and Aradia may be the only other individuals who have begun to piece the parts together.”

She pauses, and you haven’t really decided what you want to say yet.  All of this information is shaking you out of the little bubble you built for yourself when you decided this conflict was isolated and personal.  You’re suddenly forced to remember that there’s a school full of people with eyes and ears around you and that not everyone you know is an absolute moron.  But she doesn’t give you time to reorient yourself before dropping another load on you.  “Before what happened today in the lunchroom, I was uncertain myself. I try to avoid buying into conspiracy theories and conjecture, you see.  But I’m now fairly certain that something is happening that directly involves you, Tavros, Damara, and perhaps Cronus Ampora, and that whatever that something is includes some level of antagonism between Damara and Tavros in particular. Am I correct?”

You stare at her wordlessly. Talking to Rose Lalonde was a horrible idea.  Of course Aranea would send you to someone who’s interested in psychology about a conflict that caused obvious psychological issues in your main person of interest. But what can you do about it now? “Look,” you say, “I’m not at liberty to go jabbering on about this stuff to whoever wants to talk about it, okay? I didn’t come here so you could guess what I came here for.”

“Did Damara perform sexual acts on Tavros without his consent?” Rose asks without blinking.  You almost fall over with shock.  Damn it, and you know it’s showing on your face. She takes your expression as a confirmation. “He wasn’t pleased with the physical contact he shared with her earlier, I noticed,” she says as an explanation.  She almost seems smug that she was able to guess correctly.  “Not to mention Damara’s particular disposition and attitude towards sexual conduct.  Members of the disabled community are at a higher risk for sexual assault and misconduct, unfortunately. I was hoping it wasn’t the case, but I had my—“

“Okay, okay, you just need to shut up,” you say.  You glance around.  No one’s in sight, but any number of people could be lurking between the bookshelves. Rose’s got you all sorts of discombobulated, and now you’re pissed off that you gave everything away so easily.  You were doing so well, too.  “Look,” you say, lowering your voice to a whisper.  “This is a real dicey situation, got it?  You don’t know the half of it.  This can’t get out to _anyone_. _No one_.”

She scrutinizes your expression, her own gaze level and collected.  “You do understand that, if Tavros is experiencing symptoms of trauma, he should talk to a professional so that he doesn’t develop a more severe disorder?”

“Yeah, okay, and if I were his mom, I’d get right on that,” you say with a sneer.  “But I ain’t.  You and me might be able to wrap our heads around all this, but he’s not about to go confess to his family that he slept with his brother’s psycho ex.  Not to mention he’s got it in his head that Vriska wouldn’t take to the news too well.”

“No, I don’t imagine she would,” Rose says with a small tilt of her head.  “So his shame is keeping him quiet?”

“It’s not that easy,” you say, and you sigh.  She gestures to the floor next to her as an invitation to sit.  You do.  “I tried to get the kid to go to the police when it first happened, but Ampora didn’t think they’d take it seriously.  I guess because he’s a dude and Megido’s a slut, people wouldn’t care or understand?”

Rose nods. “That is a reasonable concern. The prejudices in our society leak into the justice system, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah.  Which blows, ‘cuz now it’s up to us to deal with it, and Megido’s blowing the whole thing up since I got involved.”

Rose nods again. “That must be very difficult for you.  Your past conflicts with Damara must make you feel as though you share some blame in this situation, even though you have no control over her actions.”

“Yeah!  And, shit, it’s not like I _meant_ for any of this to happen.  I was just _there_ , you know?  What was I gonna do, throw the kid under the bus?  Like he needs to get run over again.  If it were anyone other than Megido, I still woulda beaten the shit outta ‘em for it.  It’s not like I _want_ this to become this huge thing between me and her!”

Rose looks at you with probing eyes.  “Is that what it’s become?”

Your sigh turns into a groan. “ _Yes_ , and I’m not equipped to handle it, you feel me?  The whole Rufioh fiasco was one thing. He cheated on her, so yeah, he was gonna get roughed up a bit, and it’s not like that’s on me. And it was just _different_ , you know?  This isn’t the same thing.  I don’t _want_ to make this worse than it already is, but now it’s like Megido’s using it as an opportunity to get back at me for all the shit I said and did when the first Nitram shit storm landed.  Like she can use Tavros to cut me down the same way I used Rufioh to poke at her. But I wasn’t _hurting_ Rufioh when I was taking stabs.  He dug his own damn grave!  But now she’s trying to conduct this psychological fuckin’ war on the both of us, and—“

You pause. Rose listens to you talk patiently, attentively, sitting with her hands in her lap and exuding a pronounced air of professionalism. Your face falls. “Bitch, you psychoanalyzing me when I’m supposed to be asking you for help.”

“But it’s nice to get it off your chest, isn’t it?” she says, smiling slightly.  “Carrying around secrets of this magnitude can be very stressful.”

You growl with frustration. “I ain’t the one who’s been raped!” you snap.  “Talk to Nitram if you want to practice your shrink schtick.  What I need is advice!”

“For your psychological war?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, now you’re talkin’! Can we get to that, please? All this other stuff isn’t important right now.”

The corner of her smile quirks up in a way that’s decidedly judgmental.  “You really think it’s not important to understand your stance on the issue when your opponent is using mind tricks on you?” she asks. “Stress is a detriment to good judgment, you know.”

“Let’s talk about Damara Megido,” you say, looking her in the eyes.  “I need weaknesses.  Insecurities.  Stuff to exploit.  Preferably stuff relating to this bullshit, so that she’ll stop using the kid as a bargaining chip.”

When you put it that way, you realize how impossible it sounds.  What kind of weakness could she possibly have that would be so vulnerable she would just _stop_ using her emotional advantage over you if you pushed it?  How would _any_ sort of mind fuck help put this issue to rest?  She’s not going to leave Tavros alone just because you tear her down.  She’d probably get more aggressive, like she did with Rufioh.  What were you thinking?  Did she get you so swept up in your little spat with her that you forgot your main goal is to protect someone else and not _attack Damara?_

“If you’re trying to convince Damara to stop antagonizing Tavros, you should make her feel guilty about it,” Rose says, interrupting your thoughts.  “You need to make her regret her own actions.”

You pause and mull it over. That actually makes sense. But... “Yeah, I don’t think she’d feel guilty, no matter what I do.  She’s a psychopath.”

Rose smirks, and the judgmental curve reappears on the corner of her lips.  “I assure you that she’s not.  She’s perfectly capable of feeling guilt. In fact...”

She pauses and takes a second to think.  Her eyes slide to yours.  She seems to be sizing you up, as if the problem isn’t that she doesn’t know what to say but that she’s not sure if she should say it to you.  “Lalonde. The bitch is _raping_ your friend.  If you got dirt, I want it.”

“That’s a fair argument,” Rose acquiesces with a nod.  She eyes you as she says, “Damara Megido, as well as her sister Aradia Megido, have spent most of their lives cycling through foster homes.  Such an experience can create many psychological issues in a child, including fears of abandonment, rejection, and apathy, as well as trust issues and a strong desire for attention or affection. Damara’s reaction to Rufioh’s infidelity suggests that she suffers from many of these problems. By constantly shoving it in her face that Rufioh abandoned her, rejected her, breached her trust, and lost affection for her, you may have triggered severe disillusionment that’s now manifesting as a complete disregard for other people and social convention.”

“So you’re saying she’s like this ‘cuz of how she grew up?” you say.  There it is.  You knew it wasn’t totally your fault.  She was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“No, I’m simply saying her environment influenced her current disposition,” Rose says. You’re pretty sure she knows exactly what you’re thinking.  “Different people have different thresholds for stress.  Hers was lower.  That doesn’t forgive the actual stressors that finally did manage to push her over the edge.”

You huff.  “Okay, I get it.  So how am I supposed to use that to make her feel guilty for doing what she’s doing?  You want me to make fun of her for being a foster kid?”  You doubt that’d help. It feels like a low blow, even for you.

“No.  That’s tactless and uninspired.”  She purses her lips.  “I want to be clear that everything I say from this point forward is nothing more than speculation.”

“Better than nothing,” you say.  “Shoot.”

“There are many wonderful foster families out there, but unfortunately, there are many that are not,” she says, almost as a preamble to what she’s about to say.  “It’s possible she experienced some form of abuse herself at the hands of one or more of her guardians.  That may explain why she has trust issues that seem to far exceed her sister’s.  Her lack of respect for personal boundaries and bodily autonomy, her disdain for rules and laws as set by faceless figures of authority, and her wanton sexual promiscuity may be indicators of abuse, particularly sexual abuse, although it may have been emotional instead of physical or something along the lines of neglect.  If it is the case that she endured her own demons, it may not be difficult to induce feelings of guilt in her for her own transgressions by convincing her to reflect the concept of her own abusers onto herself.  Make her compare her actions to the actions of the people who wronged her.”

You sit silently for a moment, turning the idea in your brain.  You don’t like it.  What’s with all the gross sexual bullshit you’ve been having to think about lately? It’s not cool. It’s not even toeing the line of being okay. And the idea of Damara being a victim of...it doesn’t sit right.  It makes you feel _pretty fucking awful_ , actually.  You never even thought about questioning what made her so damn crazy.  She never mentioned anything.  Wouldn’t she?  To someone?  To Rufioh at the very least?  But...oh. Maybe that’s why it crushed her so much when Rufioh cheated on her.  Ah. Oops.

Fuck, Rufioh’s suddenly sounding like kind of a dick.

“Okay, wait. Hold up.  This is all just speculation, right?” you ask. Lalonde nods.  You wish she would stop studying you so closely. Like you’re some sort of social experiment she just now decided to conduct.  “So, hypothetically, let’s say what you’re saying is true.  How the hell am I supposed to figure out exactly what went down in her past?”

“You needn’t know the details,” she says.  “You just need to press in that direction, and she may do the rest on her own.”

“And how do I do that?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

You release a deep sigh. “Where’d I go wrong, Lalonde?” you ask, flopping over.

“Pardon?”

“If I knew I’d have to get in her face about bad childhood shit that squicks me the fuck out, I woulda left Nitram to deal with her on his own.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You would have left her to molest him as she saw fit?”

“No, not _that_ Nitram,” you say, throwing her a look. “Who do you think I am? I ain’t like that.”

“Ah.  Rufioh, then.  Do you regret your involvement in their affairs, now that you’ve been forced to consider Damara’s perspective?”

The way she scans your face, you’re sure she’s going to go home and write a log about your reaction to this crisis. But who cares? You’re not going to get this all off your chest any other way.  “She said it was my fault for makin’ her into a monster,” you say with a grimace. You prop yourself up on your elbows.  “Does that sound like someone who’s been abused as a child?  If anyone made her into a monster, it was the abusers, right? So she sayin’ I’m the one who fucked her up, which means she can’t’ve met many people worse than me.”

Lalonde smirks. “Are you now attempting to take full responsibility for her fallout?  You were trying to blame it on her childhood earlier. Which possibility bothers you more—that _you_ reduced her to this state, which is now causing these problems, or that she was badly hurt as a child and is now acting out her repressed childhood horrors?”

You sprawl out with a groan. “I dunno.”

After a pause, Rose says, “You were certainly a catalyst of sorts.  Perhaps you function as a scapegoat for all of her insecurities. A shadow figure, if you will, to represent the injustices she suffered, whatever form they take. Especially if her abusers held significant amounts of power over her, rendering them untouchable, her only recourse for channeling her emotions may be to create a more manageable adversary upon whom she could project her fears and then react to them in a meaningful manner. She can't hurt the people who originally hurt her, but she can hurt you, the bully who exploited her insecurities and forced her past her breaking point.”

Welp, there you have it. You were a little shit, and now you face the consequences.  Maybe it serves you right to play the part of scapegoat.  And you really thought you were doing someone a favor. Looks like you have a piper to pay.

“Guess I’m one that made the monster, so I’m the one who’s gotta take her out,” you say.

“It may help to stop treating this as a war between the two of you.  It’s between her and Tavros.  Your only goal is to stop her from committing violence against him,” Lalonde says. She picks up her book. She must think she’s done with you.

“She says it’ll happen as long as I care,” you say.  The phrase that’s been on your mind since last night.  Rose pauses for just a beat.

“No,” she says. “It’ll happen as long as _she_ cares.  Give her a reason to stop.”


	10. Stand down

Meenah comes to Cronus’s house unannounced an hour or two after you both settle in.  She seems put off by something.  She doesn’t pay any attention to Cronus’s questions as she drops a duffle bag onto the floor of his room.  “I’m stayin’ here tonight,” she says.

“You—what?” Cronus asks in shock.  You’re surprised as well.  Meenah usually complains whenever she has to spend time around Cronus.

“Don’t get any funny ideas,” she says, shooting him a look.  “I got some things I need to go over with Nitram.  And some shit I need to think about. Don’t bug me.”

Some things to go over with you?  You wonder if it has to do with the note Damara left for you.  You’re both curious and apprehensive about it.  You know _something_ must have been written on it, and not knowing what that thing is means you’re in the dark about Damara’s intentions.  She had something she wanted to say to you.  You don’t like imagining what, especially when Meenah thinks you’re better off not knowing.

But with both Meenah and Cronus around, what could go wrong?  That’s why they’re both here, right?  With Meenah here, surely everything’s going to be fine...right?

She sits down next to you. “Yo,” she says. She sighs.  “Look, I’mma be a huge bitch here in the next couple’a days, and I need your help to accomplish that.”

“You...want me to help you be a bitch?” you ask, knitting your brow in confusion.

“Yea.  I need to know all the dirt you got on the Megidos’ past.  Like what sorta houses they grew up in and what their guardians were like.  I know you close to the younger Megido, so you gotta know something.”

Your gut sinks a bit. You don’t know all the details about the Megidos’ history, at least not as much as your brother knows, but you have known Aradia for a long, long time.  You’ve noticed things, heard things, even about stuff Aradia never told you.  You don’t like divulging personal secrets that were told to you in confidence, but...in this case, maybe you have the right to? 

You take a deep breath. “The Megidos spent a lot of their life with a man named Dr. Scratch,” you say  “And he was a horrible person.”

 

You take a long shower, going over things in your head.  You never knew the Megidos were so fucked up.  Or, you guess it wasn’t them that were fucked up but the people they grew up with.  Dr. Scratch. His weird lackeys, who came in and out of the house at random intervals.  A faceless patriarch that Aradia never met.  What the fuck?

Nitram didn’t say anything about any particular abuse, but, from the sound of it, he wouldn’t know anyway. He did say the ‘doctor’ sent Damara out on ‘errands’ that even Aradia didn’t know the details of. The whole thing reeks. Even more suspicious, it turns out the Megidos didn’t change hands to their current foster home in the ‘normal’ way.  Sounds like they were never really in the foster care system at all.  Their current foster parents, ‘Mr. Slick’ and ‘Ms. Paint,’ as well as the ‘uncles’ that jam with them, sound better than their previous guardians, but something is still off about the whole deal.  Like the Megidos are involved in some shit you never even thought to consider.  And now you’re _really_ not sure you should be getting into it with Damara the way you have been.

Not that you’re scared. You can hold your own. But, shit, you think she might have access to some nasty weapons if she really wanted to get serious, and you’re starting to suspect she might actually know how to use them.

The Amporas’ have a swank ass shower, and you almost don’t want to get out.  You didn’t really ask if you could use it. Cronus and Tavros have been asleep for a little while.  You’re just trying to come up with a plan of action.  Strategizing isn’t really your thing.  You’re usually a ‘do first, ask later’ kind of person.  You work in the moment, on your gut, taking advantage of opportunities you see as they come up.  But that’s not working out right now, and the deeper you go down the rabbit hole, the more frustrated you become.

Fuck it.

You slip into your clothes and sneak out the door, hoping no one wakes up when your car starts. You hope Damara’s awake, because you’re not about to let the hour stop you from taking care of business. You park your car down the road and walk over to the house.  It’s dark.  Careful not to make too much noise, you scale the chain fence ringing the yard and tip toe to the window you know to be Damara’s—a piece of knowledge you’re almost ashamed you have. You’ve been battling this bitch for way too long.  You pick up a rock and toss it against the glass.

After a second, the window opens.  So Damara was awake after all.  She spots you immediately, and you simply nod to the front of the house.  She closes the window, and you leave the yard the way you came, crossing the street to put some distance between you and Megido.

“何だ?” she asks, closing the front door.  “もう一同あなたを打ちのめしてあげたいの?” [“What?  Do you want me to beat you up again?”]

“I ain’t here to start shit with you this time,” you say.  She eyes you, taking in your conservative stance.  Her eyes narrow with suspicion.

“じゃあ何できましたか?” she asks.  [“Then why did you come?”]

You don’t say anything immediately, which only makes her more suspicious.  You don’t really know what you’re supposed to say. ‘Yo, hey, are you picking on Nitram because someone touched you as a kid?’  Wow, no.  You’re so uncomfortable.  You take a deep breath.  “You know you were Tavros’s first fuck, right?” you say.

She pauses, taken aback, but her mouth twists into a cold smirk.  “だから何?” she says.  You don’t understand the words, but you can feel the charge in her tone.  Her usual devil-may-care attitude is slipping beneath a layer of defensive hostility. Well, at least you seem to be gaining the upper hand. [“So what?”]

“You remember _your_ first fuck?” you ask.  “How old were you?”

“何だ、その質問?” she snaps, scowling.  “あなたには関係ないだろう.  自分の事を気に—” [“What the hell is with that question? It has nothing to do with you. Mind your own—“]

“I was talkin’ with a friend,” you say, interrupting her, “and we thought it was weird how you get off acting this way, when you obviously been hurt yourself.  I don’t know all the deets, but I’ve heard enough to convince me.  You think I’m the one who made you into a monster?  I ain’t buying it.  I think you been waitin’ to be a monster for a long time, but what really gets me is that, even though some shitty things happened to you, you still think it’s aight to turn around and do the same thing to someone else.  You had me goin’ there for a bit, makin’ me feel like this was some ways my fault, but we both know that ain’t true. You didn’t even know I’d be there to see any of it.  You’re just repeatin’ history, turning into the asshole who fucked you up when you were a kid.”

You don’t know if that was what Lalonde had in mind when she told you to try this out, but you hope you hit the right buttons.  You watch Megido for a reaction.  She glares at you, face kept still as a mask.  You do the same.  Whether or not you struck the nerve you wanted to strike, you’re at least going to seem like you know exactly what you’re talking about.    

“Who told you?” she finally says. English?  _Good_ English? You’ll take that as a good sign.

“Can’t say,” you reply.

She examines your face. “You lie,” she says. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough,” you say. “I know about Dr. Scratch.”

The name hits a chord. She looks as though you uttered a summon for the devil.  You haven’t seen such dark rage flashing in her eyes since you jabbed at her about Horuss.  “How?” she asks, hissing the word like it’s poison.

“Can’t say,” you reply again. “But I will say that it sounds like you’re turning out a lot like him, from what I’ve heard. Sorry for making fun of you, but I sure as hell never told you to tie down an underage virgin and fuck him while he cries.”

You don’t expect her to charge at you, but you’ve kept enough distance between the two of you to react. You dodge a blow to the face, but her knee flies up to collide with your stomach.  The bruises from last night scream at you. Your vision blurs for a second. You blink through the pain and cuff her on the jaw, distracting her so you can lunge forward with an uppercut to her solar plexus.  She hardly seems to notice.  Her cupped hand catches you on the ear in a jarring blow, and when you stumble, her foot sweeps your legs from under you.  She’s on top of you almost before you reach the ground.  Her hands are in your hair, and she slams the back of your head against the pavement.  She slaps you several times.  Her hands are around your neck.

Working on instinct, you thrust your hips up and use all the power in your legs to roll her over, trying to scramble on top.  She stops you halfway through the roll.  The two of you are both on your sides, clawing at each other, trying to punch each other’s faces into the ground.  Your feet come up to kick her.  You get them between you and push her away.  As soon as her hands are off you, you stumble to your feet.

She’s standing as well. You both pant. Scrapes from your previous battle have reopened.  Your nose is bleeding.  But something is different tonight.  She doesn’t look the same way she did when you parted last time.  The rage is still in her eyes, burning like the flames of hell.  Emotion sharpens each heavy gasp of air she takes.  She doesn’t look like she’s feeling guilty to you.

And you...you’re pissed, too. This wasn’t a cathartic fight. You don’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything.  All the confusion and uncertainty cluttering your thoughts since the night before, the frustration those emotions cause you, the distressing doubts you’ve had about yourself and your place in this mess, all of it breaks like a tidal wave in your chest.

“He’s no different than you were!” you snarl.  “The fuck is wrong with you?  You _are_ a fucking monster!”

“You defend him!” she screeches back.  “No one defended me! If we’re no different, why do you treat us differently?  You’re the monster!  _You are the monster!_ ”

You don’t listen to your shaking body.  You aim to break bones. She does the same. You’re both more ferocious than you were before, because, despite all your better judgment, this has somehow become about you.  You don’t want it to be about you.  You don’t want to feel like a monster.  You don’t want to feel responsible for this snarling creature before you. Fuck, where did you go wrong?

This time, you can feel your ribs crack.  You can feel the crunch in your knuckles.  You keep going until a punch to your gut brings blood to your mouth.  You can’t push through the pain.  You fall to your knees.  You expect a finishing blow to the head, but it doesn’t come.

“Bitch,” Damara hisses, standing over you.  You look up at her from beneath your eyelashes, trying to glare through the bruise swelling up your eye socket.  She spits on you. “You know nothing.”

You pant.  The iron taste of blood covers your tongue. You grit your teeth. “Some asshole touched you,” you say.  “And he hurt you. And I fucked up when I brought you down because I didn’t _know_.”

You steel yourself, but nothing happens.  She stares down at you.  You don’t look up at her.  You bow your head and put your hands together before you, and you surrender. 

 

Meenah wakes you up in the middle of the night.  You’re irritated at first, because what the hell?  But when your eyes finally focus on her face, you come to your senses much faster.

“What happened?” you say with a gasp, but she slaps a hand over your mouth.

“Do _not_ wake Nitram,” she hisses.  You both turn when he shifts on the air mattress covering your floor.

“I’m awake anyway,” he whispers, almost as though he’s ashamed of it.  He eyes Meenah, but he doesn’t look surprised.  “I knew you were gone for a while now.”

“Why ain’t you sleepin’?” she asks, frowning.  You sit up and turn on your lamp.

“Who cares about _him_?  You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder!” you say.  You reach out to get a better look at her face, but she doesn’t let you touch her.  You’re not surprised, but it irritates you nonetheless. You’re only trying to _help_.

“Did you fight with her again?” Tavros asks.  He has some trouble rolling off the air mattress, but he eventually gets to his chair. He climbs in and comes over.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Meenah says.  Wincing, she lowers herself to the floor next to your bed.  “Hopefully it won’t happen again.”

“It better not! You’re going to get yourself killed,” you say.

“I agree,” Tavros says. He looks worried and...guilty? “I...would prefer you not do this again, even if...something else happens like what happened today.”

“Chill,” she says. “I think I hit a nerve with her. Which, if everything works out, might mean we’ve fixed the Megido problem for good.”

“Really?” Tavros asks. He glances at you, almost as if to seek reassurance.

“So, the coast is clear?” you ask.  “Just like that? What did you _do_ to her?”

“Don’t worry about it!” she says, gritting her teeth.  So she’s sensitive about it.  _That_ makes you curious. But maybe it’s best to let it be. It’s good news, in any case, isn’t it?  This means you’re free. Right?

“Hey, squirt, why don’t you go look for the first aid kit in the bathroom?” you ask.  Tavros nods and leaves the room.  Truth be told, you don’t know if there is a first aid kit in the bathroom.  Do you even _own_ a first aid kit? You don’t know, but you need a moment alone with Meenah.  “So, it’s over?” you ask.

“I don’t know, Ampora! Do I look like a fortune teller to you?” she snaps. 

You frown. “But you just said you fixed the problem.”

“I said ‘hopefully’ I fixed it.  _Hopefully_.  I don’t know what goes on in the bitch’s head.”

Ah, well then. Looks like you’re on baby sitter duty a little longer.  And you feel...relieved?  _Relieved_ that you’re still forced to be attached to Nitram’s hip every hour after school?  What’s up with _that_?

Maybe it’s because you’ve never hung out with anyone this much before in your life.  Consistently, that is.  It’s kind of nice knowing that, every day, after school gets out, without fail, someone will be there to socialize with you. Like a friend. It’s like...you and Tavros Nitrams are friends now.

And you suddenly realize that, when this is all over, he’s probably not going to want to shoot the shit with you on a regular basis anymore.  He has other friends, after all.  And you’re not _really_ his friend, right?  You’re just...the bodyguard.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Meenah asks, eyeing your face.  You hadn’t realized that you were pouting.  You wipe your expression clean.

“Nothing!  Just thinking about things.  Actually, if you want to know, I was just—“

“Nope, don’t care,” she says. Shutting you down as always. That’s...Meenah for you.

“Uh, Cronus?” Tavros asks, appearing in the doorway with a confused look on his face. “I don’t see any first aid kit?”

A door opens down the hallway. “It’s in the pantry. And would you keep it down?” The door closes.

“Was that Vriska Serket?” Meenah asks.

You shrug. “She comes around now and then.”

Tavros glances at you from the doorway, pink around the ears and maybe even a bit indignant. “Really?”

“Go get the damn first aid kit!” Meenah snaps, swatting at your legs.

“Okay, okay! No need to be so _pushy_.”

 

You ambush Rufioh when he gets out of football practice.  You don’t wait for the rest of his team to leave.  As soon as you see him, you grab him by the jersey and shove him into a wall.  His teammates freeze.

“Hey, Dam...what’s up?” Rufioh asks, putting on a weak smile.

“黙れ!” you hiss.  “てめー, 殺す!” [“Shut up! I’ll kill you, bastard!”]

Jake English takes a small step forward.  “Uh, good afternoon, Damara! No need to be so...physical,” he says.  You turn your glare on him. He shies away from you.

You aren’t afraid of burly men.  They should fear you. You are wrath. You are rage.  You are proof that time destroys all things without remorse.

“Hey, doll...” Rufioh says. He fears you.  He is not an idiot.  “Can we...talk...?”

You don’t take your hands off him.  “いい,” you say.  He gestures for his teammates to leave. [“Fine.”]

“So...what’s on your mind...?”

“言った!” you hiss.  You tighten your grip on his jersey.  “私の秘密をあいつに言った!” [“You told!  You told that bitch my secret!”]

“What?  No!  C’mon, doll...you know I wouldn’t do something like that...I don’t even know who you’re talking about...”

“嘘をつかな!” you snarl.  Your face is inches from his.  You cannot control yourself.  He swore he would keep your secrets.  You told him everything.  You trusted him. He swore he wouldn’t tell. [“Don’t tell me lies!”]

He puts his hand on yours. His skin burns you. You hate him.  “Damara...” he says.  He has the eyes of a puppy.  This is how he destroys you.  With his imploring eyes.  His awful words.  The way he says things so softly.  “Listen...a lot of crazy things happened between us...I mean, some of that shit was insane, literally...but you’re still my girl!  And I mean that.  I would _never_ tell anyone about...you know, your personal stuff.  Just because I’m not dating you doesn’t mean I would tear you down like that.”

Why wouldn’t he? Everyone wants to tear you down. They’ve been tearing you down for years.  He tore you to shreds once already.  Why not a little more?  Unless he _pities_ you like Meenah does now. Fake bitch.  She doesn’t understand a thing.

Rufioh watches you, waiting for you response.  He makes you want to hurt him.  He seems so sweet. So gentle, the way he speaks. You hate him for the way he is. You hate him because you want to believe him, even though you know better.  You can’t trust him.  You can’t trust _anybody_.

Meenah Peixes knows about you, and _somebody told her_.

“だって誰言ったのかい?” you sneer.  “他の人も知っているのかい?  何であの人知っているのかい?” [“Then who told?  Does someone else know?  Why does she know?”]

“I don’t know, Damara...I’m telling the truth...I don’t know what to tell you...”  Your anger is making him nervous.  He thinks you’re going to hurt him. “Did you...try asking Aradia? Maybe she knows...”

You pause. Aradia does know. Some things, that is. Not everything. But enough.  And if Aradia knows...

You anger turns cold. “お前の弟...” you say.  He notices the shift in your expression. [“Your brother...”]

“Who, Tavros?” he says. Your face does not change. He releases a nervous laugh. “How would...how would he know? Let’s not jump to conclusions...”

You release him. “いい,” you say. “Tavros 知っていたら問題ない. わかった.” [“Fine. If Tavros knows, there’s no problem.  I understand.”]

Rufioh eyes your face with uncertainty.  “Really...? If you want, I can talk to him for you, doll...”

“いいって. 問題ありません. Tavrosだったら.” [“I said it’s fine. There’s no problem. If it’s Tavros.”]

You turn and leave. You feel cold. Cold anger.  Boiling in you is a terrible storm you haven’t acknowledged in years.


	11. Pick up

You had sleepovers with Meenah or Cronus for about a week after the incident between Meenah and Damara, but when nothing happened, they finally decided you could be by yourself again at night. After all, you’re not really alone, since Rufioh and your parents are always home when you sleep. You’re jittery at first. You miss the sound of another person breathing, the comfort of another presence.  You still can’t sleep well, but as the weeks pass, you notice that you’re not waking up as much when you finally drift off.  You think that’s a good sign.

Every uneventful day that passes feels lighter.  You think it’s Cronus’s influence.  He’s been friendlier lately, by a lot, actually.  He says optimistic things to you about how everything is fine now, how you ‘won,’ and how nothing bad is going to happen again.  He seems glad that things are going back to normal. You’re pretty sure he’s only happy because he can finally stop wasting every day hanging out with you soon. You can’t really blame him. You’ve done nothing but mope for over a month, and you imagine he’s probably really tired of you. You try your best to mirror back his optimism, even when you’re in a low spell.  It’s the least you can do for him after he’s put up with you for this long.  Meenah, too. They both sacrificed a lot of time and energy to get you through this, and you’re so, so grateful.

You wish there was a way to show them how grateful you are.  You just try to pull yourself up out of your funk.  It's hard, harder than you can even say, but the least you can do is be less miserable and pathetic when they’re around.  You eat, you pretend you’re sleeping fine, and you even let Cronus talk you into going out and doing things.  At first, your gray seemed to drag behind you, exhausting you and trying to tug you back home, but you’ve been fighting it.  You don’t want to be sad anymore.  Your sadness makes you feel guilty, which only makes you feel sadder.  You want to stop. You want to feel normal again.

So you do something you haven’t done since this all started.

“So, champ, whose house are we heading to today?” Cronus asks, strolling up to your locker after school. You glance at his face, noting his smile.  He’s cheerful like he has been recently.

“Um...” you say, “actually, I was thinking about going to RP club today, since I haven’t been in a really long time, and I think I should try to start going back, now that things are better.”

You expect him to be surprised, but you also expect relief to follow.  After all, he hasn’t had time alone to do whatever it is he likes to do when he’s alone.  Make music, you guess, since that’s what he does when you’re both hanging out but not really interacting with each other.  The only reasons he’s still inviting you over or chilling with you at your house at all is because he feels like he has to, right?  If you let him know you’re comfortable on your own, maybe he won’t feel that way anymore.  You’ve stolen enough of his time.

But to your surprise, disappointment flashes across his face.  “Oh, yeah...of course.  That would only make sense.  I mean, that’s what you do, isn’t it?  You make up games with all your little friends.  Obviously you would want to start doing that again when the coast is clear.  _Obviously_.”  Is he...pouting?

“Uh...yeah. They’ve been asking me to go, and I think it would benefit me to maybe start trying to get back into my normal life,” you say.  Which is true.  Vriska gave up on you pretty quickly, but Terezi and Aradia have consistently invited you back to the club, even though you always declined.  Even Nepeta brings it up now and then.  The thought actually makes you feel a little better about yourself.

“Of course, of course. Your normal life. Which I’m not a part of. We’re nothing more than two ships passing in the night.”  Cronus folds his arms and nods, but you notice his pout is getting more pronounced. You don’t understand. You thought he _wanted_ to stop hanging out with you.  He’s only doing it because of his deal with Meenah, right?  Shouldn’t he be glad?

“Do you...want to come with me?” you ask.  You don’t think Vriska or Eridan would be happy with that.  Or anyone else, for that matter.  But you wouldn’t mind.  Maybe it would be fun.

“With you? To RP club?” he asks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” you say. You smile, because you think it really would be fun.  You found a bunch of Harry Potter stuff in Cronus’s closet once, including a beat up wizard hat and a wand.  He blushed bright red when he noticed you examining them, but you didn’t think it was embarrassing at all.  He probably has the seeds of a good role player in him.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.  You can almost see the cogs turning in his mind.  “So...what do you actually _do_ at RP club?” he finally asks.

“We role play,” you say. He grimaces, but not in a way that shuts you down.  Even though he’s hesitant, he’s not completely opposed to the idea yet. “It sounds silly when you first think about it, maybe, but it’s actually really fun, because you can be anyone you want to be and do things as your fantasy character that you can’t do in real life.  And it’s a great way to be with friends, because you always have many things to talk about, so you’re never bored in each other’s presence.”

He examines your face, and you start to realize how earnest you must look.  Like you’re _excited_. And...you are. Talking about it sparked a small flame of enthusiasm in you that you haven’t felt for a long time. Cronus sighs.  “I _guess_ I can give this nerd club a try,” he says.  “But I’m only going to watch.  Playing pretend is _so_ not my scene.”

You know it’s not, but only because he’s got a stick up his ass.  You grin nonetheless.  Partially because, for the first time in weeks, you feel excited to play with your friends, and partially because you’ve realized that Cronus doesn’t think you’re a huge drag.  He _wants_ to hang out with you. And that changes your perspective on a lot of things.

 

Meenah’s lounging on your bed when you finally get home.  You’re so surprised you almost can’t speak.  How did she get in?  Why is she here?

“What the fuck, Ampora?” she snaps, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as soon as she notices you hovering in the doorway.  She stomps over to you and reaches into your pocket. 

“Whoa, Meenah, if you want—“

She pulls out your phone and, after a quick glance at it, shoves it in your face so hard you think you might get a nosebleed.  She lets it drop into your hand as you take a step back, finger against your nostrils. “What’s the problem with this picture?” she says, pointing at your phone.

You look down at it. “My phone is dead.”

“Damn fucking right, it is! I’ve been calling for _four hours_ , you useless shit! Where the hell were you?”

You freeze. “Did something happen?” you ask.

“Yeah, you could say that!” She crosses her arms. “I hear you and your fucktruck brother are throwing a party this weekend.  And then, when I try to call you about it, you don’t answer, and neither you nor Nitram are at either of your houses, which ain’t exactly the best scenario in my mind!”

“Oh,” you say, and you breathe a sigh of relief.  “Is that all? You had me going for a moment there, Meenah!”

“ _I_ had _you_ going?” she repeats.

You hold up your hands. “Let’s take a minute to calm down. No need to be so confrontational! After all, we’re in the clear, so there’s no reason to work yourself up.”

“No one ever said we were in the clear!” she snaps.

“You did,” you say. “And it’s not like Damara’s been up to anything.  She’s been calm and quiet, like a dream.  Even the kid’s getting back into the swing of things.”

“Shut up and tell me about this party,” Meenah says, scowling.

“Oh, don’t worry about _that_.  You’re obviously invited.”

“That’s not what I’m on about!” she says.  She takes a step forward and jams her finger into your chest.  “You think you got time to host a party?  You’re not done with your end of the deal until _I_ say you are, got it?  What the hell you think you’ll be doing with Nitram that whole time?”

“Well, if he doesn’t like parties, he can chill in my room,” you say, shrugging.  “He’s a cool cat.  He doesn’t mind.”

“Have you _told_ him about it?”

You grimace. “Not yet, but it’s not like he would _care_.  My brother and I throw this party every year when my parents go on their late autumn cruise.  He must at least suspect it’s going to happen again this year. It’s _tradition_.”

“Are you a fuckin’ moron?” she asks.

“Really, Meenah, I don’t see what you’re so upset about.  It’s just a party,” you say.  “And _obviously_ Damara isn’t invited.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Ampora. We both know anyone who can fit through your front doors is fair game, especially if they got booze. I don’t even know why you bother pretendin’ like there are actual invitations to this thing.”

You frown. “Well, there’s _supposed_ to be invitations.  If it were just me, _I’d_ make it an invite only event.  My brother is just a whore for attention.”  She throws you a look that carries the weight of her derision, as if to say ‘your _brother’s_ the attention whore?’  Always a diplomat, that Meenah.  “Look,” you say, huffing, “think of it as a test!  If everything goes smoothly, we know we’re fine.  Right?”

“For your sake, you’d better hope everything goes smoothly,” she says, prodding you in the chest again. Without another word, she trudges over to your window and slips out onto your roof.  So that’s how she got in.


	12. Give in

Everything is going smoothly. You don’t know _what_ Meenah was getting so upset about.  Your house is packed like it is every year, and everybody who’s somebody is here.  The football team, including Rufioh and the ever-charming Jake English, Meenah’s sister and Muelin from the cheerleading squad with a few of their attractive cheerleading friends, other attractive dames you don’t know, the Striders and the Lalondes, Latula Pyrope, and of course you and your brother make up the heart of the school’s popular social scene, and then there’s the school pranksters John and Jane.  And the geeks from the robotics club, which you guess includes Roxy Lalonde and Dirk Strider, two of the most attractive individuals in school?  And Jake’s rugged cousin.  You never really got that.  You can understand why the Captors and the Zahhaks would spend their afternoons trying to get a robot to pick up a ball, but not Dirk, Roxy, and Jade.  Robotics club is supposed to be _dorky_. So is the RP club, come to think of it, but they have the reputation for being the toughest kids in school. Vriska Serket, Terezi Pyrope, Aradia Megido, Nepeta Leijon...not a bunch anyone would want to mess with, so everyone pretends the RP club is somehow really cool.  It’s not.  You know that now that you went a couple times.  It’s nerdy and embarrassing.  But the kid likes it when you come, and that’s...pretty nice, you guess.  Whatever. You’re still hot shit, even as a half-elf wizard.

You wish the Makaras hadn’t shown up, though.  That’s your one regret.  You know they’re going to get high in the backyard and creep everyone out.  Ugh.

You saunter into the kitchen to get another beer.  You’re trying to go light on the alcohol, just enough to keep a good, consistent buzz. You are the host, after all, and you can’t be tripping over yourself when you have a party to run. You’re pouring yourself some craft lager when Kankri sidles up to you.

“Cronus,” he says, and you can already tell he’s going to chastise you for something. Since no one is around besides Mituna and Latula, who are making out on your counter, _much_ to your chagrin, you think it’s probably fine to humor him.  Kankri is one of the few people decent enough to validate your struggles as a human being. No matter what they are. Literally.  Unless, of course, you’re not being sincere, and then he gets in your grill about ‘poorly representing members of the identity.’ But you’re used to people doing that, so no harm done.

“Kankri, my man!” you say, throwing your arm around his shoulders.  He frowns at the contact, but you keep going.  “How are you enjoying the party, chief? Now, I know what you’re going to say, because you’ve been saying it every year since we were freshman, and no, I’m not going to get rid of the alcohol.  This is a safe environment for teenagers to experiment with substances!  Would you rather these cats and kittens be out on the street, drinking with strangers?”

He sniffs. “No, I would not rather that be the case, but your argument contains a number of glaring flaws that I’d like to address, if I may.  Do you realize that—“

“Hey, Kan, be a pal and go check on my baby sis’, would you?” Latula says, interrupting him. Mituna snorts and giggles into her neck.

“Latula, you know it’s your responsibility as your sister’s older sibling to be a role model for her, which makes it also your responsibility to—“

“C’mon, Kan, you’re better at this sort of stuff than I am!  You know that.  I can’t be both the rad older sister and the stick in the mud whistle-blower at the same time, can I?”

Kankri frowns. “I know that being ‘radical’ is important to you, but—“

“Great!  Get that whistle out and start blowing!”

Mituna laughs, but Latula keeps her expression mostly under control until Kankri has sighed and left the room. You send her an appreciative smile.  “I owe you a Kankri distraction,” you say.

“No prob, bro! We gotta protect the alcohol at all cost!”

“Yeah!” Mituna agrees. They both laugh. You are about to join in when Meenah stomps around the corner and grabs your shirt, yanking you towards the kitchen sink.  She throws you at it and presses your face against the window behind it.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” she snaps.

“Shit!” Mituna says. “Get some!”

You frown and ignore him, looking out the window.  Like you expected, the Makaras are on the back porch, passing around a bong.  Meulin is also out there.  And so is...

“Oh,” you say. Damara.  Well, so much for the lack of invitation.

“What did I tell you?” Meenah hisses into your ear so Latula and Mituna can’t overhear.

“Relax,” you say, straightening up.  Maybe it’s the alcohol, but your confidence level is off the charts.  So what if Damara is at your party?  The whole school is at your party.  What could possibly happen?  “Look, I have everything under control,” you say. “She’s not even in the house!”

“Where’s you-know-who?” Meenah asks between gritted teeth, dropping her voice to a whisper to deter eavesdroppers. You do the same.

“Last time I saw the kid, he was playing a card game with some of his little friends.  He’s not even drinking.”

“Go kick her out,” Meenah says, nodding towards the window.  You frown. 

“Meenah, I can’t just _kick someone out_ for no reason. That would be social suicide!”

“Who cares!” she snaps, her voice rising for just a second.  She checks her volume and continues.  “What do you care about more, your shit reputation or someone else’s sense of security?”  You hesitate.  She groans and rolls her eyes.

“Wait, let’s not be hasty,” you say quickly.  “Let’s think this through.  If I bring attention to her by singling her out, someone’s going to ask me why. Right?  And that would be suspicious!  We’re trying to avoid suspicion, right?” Meenah narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t spit out a comeback.  Encouraged, you continue, “Besides, the kid’s doing a lot better than he was.  Did you know he started going back to his club again?  That’s good, right?  We don’t want to scare him or anything.”

“You know what’s going to scare him?” Meenah hisses.  “Fuckin’ _Damara Megido_ , that’s what!”

“But maybe not!” you say. “He’s been doing better! Maybe he’s ready to put the whole incident behind him.  Forgive and forget, if you will.”

“Doubt it,” she says.

You roll your eyes. “Okay, so I know that whatever happened was traumatic—I mean, I was there when he was crying, I held his hand—but it’s been _weeks_ since she actually, you know, laid a hand on him.  And it’s not like she _hurt_ him. Physically, I mean. At some point, he’s going to realize that she’s not as big a threat as he thought she was and let the whole thing go, right?”

Meenah’s face tells you that you said the wrong thing.  “Why, of all people, were _you_ the one I had to recruit for help?” she hisses, glaring at you.  “You’re the worst person in the fuckin’ universe to deal with—“

“Meenah, Meenah, let’s not fight,” you say, almost daring to put an arm around her shoulders. Almost.  You’re not that tipsy.  “We’re at a party.  There’s alcohol and good friends.  Can’t we let the whole thing take the backseat for once?  It’s _exhausting_ to think about it all the time, and I’ll bet you everything that’s valuable to me that the kid feels the same way!  He needs a mental break, and he’s getting it.  All of his friends are here, and he’s having _fun_.  Let’s not ruin it for him before we have to. He’s just been getting back into the swing of things.  He even helped me make a character for his silly role playing game.  Do you want to hear about him?”

You perk up, and Meenah groans, dropping her face into her hand.  “No, I don’t want to hear about your dumb time in the RP club,” she says.

“You joined the RP club?” Latula asks, hopping into the conversation.  “Sick!  My sister’s in that club!”

You pause, because you hadn’t realized that you had gotten louder.  At least, you hope you had gotten louder and that Latula hadn’t been able to hear everything you’re saying.  Of course that must be the case.  Everything is fine.  “Yes, I know,” you say, jumping on the opportunity to change the subject. “She plays a chaotic neutral orc fighter, right?”

“Hellz yeah! She kicks ass!” Latula responds with a laugh.  “Just like her older sister!  Makes a girl proud.”

“Since when did _you_ care about role playing?” Mituna asks, slurring and stumbling over his words so much you can hardly make out what he’s saying.  You can’t even tell if he’s drunk.

“Okay, this is where I check out,” Meenah says, turning to leave, but she pauses when Latula says, “Since he adopted that sophomore.  Rufioh’s little bro, am I right?”

Meenah sends you a look and reorients herself back into the conversation.  You feel her eyes on you.  Ah, shit, now you’re under surveillance. “You mean Tavros?” you ask, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah, him! What’s up with _that_?” Latula asks.

“Who wants to hang out with _you_?” Mituna chimes in. “Are you fucking?”

You feel your face turn some shade of pink as Mituna wags his eyebrows at you.  “No!  Of course not.  Why would we be?”

“’Cuz you’re a sick fuck,” Mituna says.  “It’s ‘cuz he’s crippled, right?”

To your surprise, you actually feel a pang of indignation, and not because of the stab at your temperament. “He’s not just some disabled kid I’m bullying into acting as my friend,” you say.  “I’ll have you know that he actively consents to be in my presence, and I value his opinion most of the time.  As surprising as you think that is.”

“That is pretty fucking surprising!” Mituna says with a cackle.  You frown.  If Meenah and Latula weren’t here, you’d start getting nasty with him.  God, he makes your blood hot.  You just grit your teeth.

“It is not _that_ surprising.  Just because you happen to draw out the _worst_ in people with your terrible attitude and poor hygiene doesn’t mean that _I’m_ the one that has the problems.”

“Yo, does Rufioh know you’re getting cray with his brother?” Latula asks, dropping her hand on Mituna’s head before he can gurgle out some halfwit response.

“We are not having sex!” you say.  “Ask Meenah!”

“Yeah, no, it’s true. They ain’t,” Meenah says. Her eyes slide to yours. “At least, they better not be.”

“Why, you wanna fuck him, too?” Mituna asks.

For a second, Meenah looks legitimately insulted.  You’re sure you’re the only one who can see the nuances in her frown, since you know why this is a delicate subject.  “Yo, can we stop talking about screwing Lil’ Nitram?” she says. “Ain’t nobody screwing Lil’ Nitram. We just cool is all.”

“What’s up with that?” Latula asks again, leaning against the counter with her rad girl airs. “Not that it ain’t awesome you two have taken a skittish underclassman under your wings, but nobody saw it coming, know what I mean?”

You exchange a glance with Meenah.  “We just ran into each other after a football game one day and hit it off exceptionally well,” you say, trying to appear as casual as possible.  “There’s more than meets the eye there, you know? He’s a cool cat.”

“Yeah?” Latula asks. “Sure seems like there’s more than meets the eye there.  My sister’s been saying he’s been down lately.  Since he started hanging out with _you_. What’s _that_ about?”

  _Oh_. Why didn’t you notice before? Latula’s a sly dog, using her cool and fun attitude to go underneath your radar.  You know what she’s hinting at with these questions. You feel your face heat up again, but not from embarrassment.  “Are you trying to imply that _I’m_ the reason he’s been out of sorts?  Is _that_ why you’re asking if we’ve been having sex?”

Latula shrugs. “I’m just asking is all,” she says, but now that you’ve noticed, you see all the signs.  The small, almost microscopic insincerity in the corner of her smile.  The coolness in her posture.  She’s drilling you because she thinks, what, that _you’re_ doing bad things to Tavros?  Wow.  _Wow_.  Just wow.

“Hey,” Meenah says, stepping forward.  “Let me remind everyone that I hate Cronus more’n probably everyone else combined, but I’mma vouch for him on this one.”

Latula’s smile relaxes. “Damn, if Pixy-Stickz says it’s cool, then it must be!  How can I argue with that?”  She leans forward.  “So, then, what _is_ up with the lil’ guy?”

“Why you askin’?” Meenah asks, crossing her arms.

“No reason! Just, you know...rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“Yeah, what rumors?” Mituna echoes, looking at Latula with a knitted brow.

Latula pats him on the head. “Don’t worry about it, Tuna. It’s just stuff I hear from my sister.”

“From Terezi?” Meenah asks. She frowns.  Her face suggests that she knows something about these ‘rumors’ they’re talking about.

“That’s my sister!” Latula says with a laugh.

“Nah, okay, don’t worry about any of those rumors,” Meenah says.  “I’m on it.  Lil’ Nitram’s been a bit down on some stuff lately, but ain’t nobody else need to worry about that. And tell your sister to keep her nose outta that business, too.”

“If you say so, P-Diddy!” Latula says, laughing again.  You look between them.  You’re missing something.

“Meenah?” someone asks from the kitchen entrance.  You turn to look.  It’s the younger Lalonde.  Her eyes scan the kitchen, taking note of the room’s occupants.  To your surprise, Meenah is immediately alert.

“’Sup?” she asks.

Lalonde looks from her to you. “I suppose the host of the party should also be aware of this,” she says.  She returns her attention to Meenah.  “I recently heard word from a credible and vigilant source of mine that Damara Megido snuck into the bathroom with Tavros Nitram, five or more minutes ago. I thought you might be... _interested_...in keeping this party fun and decent for everyone involved?”

Your body ices over. You look at Meenah. Her expression is etched with poison, and she darts from the kitchen.

 

The bathroom door catches on a foot when you try to close it.  You look up through the crack.  You freeze.

Damara forces the door open enough to slip through, and she keeps her back to it when she closes it. You hear the lock click shut. The bump of the music’s heavy bass and the sound of a hundred voices are muted in the Ampora’s large guest bathroom. Water drips from the faucet in the spacious walk-in shower.  You feel like you’re a hundred miles from the nearest person.  You back your chair towards the opposite wall.

“Uh, h-hi, Damara...um...” you say, trying to stay calm.  Her face doesn’t change.  It’s perfectly still, like the face of a marble statue.  And just as cold.  There is no sly smile on her lips, no veiled delight in her eyes. The bruises marring her skin have mostly faded, although some splotches of ugly yellow still stand out on her arms and legs.  But her skirt is just as short as always, maybe even shorter since you’re not at school, and you can see the deep red of her bra through her white shirt.

“Tavros,” she says, taking a step towards you.  You gulp, and you try to reply, but your voice barely makes it out of your throat. Her eyes are fixed on yours. They’re so cold. Her glare is frigid. “Do you know about Dr. Scratch?”

Your eyes widen. Your heart begins to race. A heavy pressure squeezes down on your limbs and torso, chilling your clammy skin, making it so hard for you to breathe the room seems to shrink around you.  She’s speaking English.  She’s asking you about the things you told Meenah. You don’t feel like in you’re in control of your body, but the word “yes” passes through your lips somehow. She’s walking towards you.

“Did you tell Meenah?” she asks.  She’s standing right in front of you.  You remember the night Meenah asked you to tell her about the Megidos, how she looked when she came home, beat up and bleeding.  You can see all the fading bruises staining Damara’s skin when she’s this close.  You answer her again, without really meaning to.

“Yes,” you say.

“So it was you,” she says. “You do know.” She reaches out and brushes her fingers against your cheek.  Her eyes seem to glow.  You’ve never seen that expression on anyone’s face before.  Everything is so emotionless that her face could be a doll’s, but her eyes bore down into yours.  You stomach turns when you feel her fingers ghost down your neck.

Mustering all of your courage, you grab her wrists and push them away from you.  “P-please don’t,” you say.  You’re trembling.  “Please leave me alone.”

For a few seconds, she doesn’t react.  She stands there, motionless, letting you hold her wrists at her sides, just long enough that you start to believe it might have worked.  Maybe she’ll respect your show of bravado.  Maybe she’ll leave you alone.  But in one motion, so fast you have no time to process what’s happening, she jerks her hands up, breaking your grip and seizing your own wrists.  She wrenches you from your chair.  Pain explodes in your shoulder as you hit the tile floor.  She grabs hold of the hem of your shirt and yanks it over your head, pulling it off of you before you can struggle.  You try to scramble away, but she grabs your arm and drags you into the shower.  She’s on top of you.  Holding your wrists in a grip so strong you know it’s going to bruise you, she forces your hands above your head and around a sturdy bar at the entrance of the shower, used to prevent people from slipping when getting in and out.  She already has a zip tie in her hand. You feel it wrap around your wrists, and she pulls it so tight that your skin feels ready to split open. She rips the fly of your pants open, almost popping the button off, and drags everything covering your lower body off in one swift movement.  You can’t do anything.  You can’t stop her.  You should be able to stop her.  You lift your own weight several times a day.  Your arms—your whole upper body is stronger than it looks.  But you can’t do _anything_.

 

Tavros told Meenah. It was him.  He didn’t have the right.  He didn’t even have the right to know.

You haven’t felt this way since the night you almost ran Rufioh over.  This rage comes from a place inside of you that you barely know exists, somewhere you never touch.  It stays bottled up, festering, oozing, cracking.  But it’s open, and you feel it dripping through your veins, hot and acidic.  Rage, jealousy, hatred, fear, wrath, burning you, sliding underneath your skin like venom.

He had no right to know. He had no right to tell.

You are not like him. You are not like this stupid boy, squirming beneath you, panting and yelping out pleas.  You never did this when you were fucked. Sex is good.  Sex feels good.  He’s pathetic.  You weren’t afraid.  You were quiet and sweet and obedient.  You were always so obedient.  Always, always following orders.  You did what they told you to do, because you knew better than to cry and thrash and carry on. You were kind and shy and meek like you were supposed to be.  You weren’t like this boy, with his wide eyes and quivering body.

You want to hurt him. You want to hurt him so bad he never forgets your face.  You want to dominate him completely, to control him, to show him how powerful you are. You are powerful. You can do whatever you want. No one can tell you what to do or how to act.  No one can hurt you the way _you_ can hurt _them_.  Nobody knows a damn thing about you.  You don’t care.  You don’t care. You are going to show him that you don’t care, and you are going to show him that he doesn’t know who you are, _and he will never tell anyone about you ever again._

You crush your lips against his, stick your thumb between his teeth so you can force your tongue in, bite down on his lip until you taste his blood.  You thrust yourself down on his groin, encouraging the heat inside you to grow until you’re a furnace of fury and lust.  He gasps and pants into your mouth. You drag your sharpened claws down his back mercilessly, forcing him to arch against you.  You yank his head back by his hair and bite his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder.  You press your thumbnails into his hipbones until they slice through his skin. You rip lines into his ribs. You’re so hot. The air around you is black and red.  His breath in your mouth is thick and warm and moist, and your mind turns.    

You want to own him. You want to swallow him. You want him to succumb to you so completely he never thinks to leave.  You want to feel powerful and loved and important and unforgettable.  You want to kill him.

You draw a pocketknife from the pocket in your skirt and open the blade.  You shift to expose his leg.  You don’t hesitate to press the blade down into his skin. Red blood gushes from the wound, and you force the blade deeper.  You’re going to write your name into his flesh.  If he wants your secrets, he will never forget you. If he gets to have your privacy, you get to have _him_. He took your secrets without your consent.  He violated you. He had no right. He doesn’t know a damn thing about you, but he will.  He won’t dare to pity you or think you weak.

You lift the blade and bring it down again, trying to slice the curve in the first letter of your name. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your brain.  But a sharp, jarring sound breaks through the din.  You stop.  The hot black sludge churning in your body draws away from your skin and stutters.  You can hear the beating of your heart in your ears.  The sound of music filters through the bathroom door.  Tavros sobs.

“P-please, please stop,” he begs you, choking on air.  It was the harsh whines of his hitching voice that distracted you.  You look at his face.  He’s drawn his head into the shelter of his arms, trying to shield himself with his elbows.  Beneath his sobs, you can hear the drip of blood falling from his wrists.

The sludge undulates underneath your skin, filling you with heat and cold, changing the temperature of your hatred.  But you watch him. He looks like Rufioh. You remember how you liked that. You thought he was better than Rufioh, kinder and more genuine.  But he’s not.  He hurt you, just like Rufioh did.  How kind and genuine could he be?

“Shut up,” you say. You grab his limp dick and expose his scrotum to the blade of your knife.  You watch his reaction.  The way he inhales with such a sharp, terrified gasp you think he must be hurting his throat, the way his body trembles, the horror in his eyes. Sobs wrench from him so hard his bleeding torso quakes.

“Please, please no, please _stop_ , I-I’ll do anything, _please_ , I’ll do _anything_ , I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ —“ he says.  His voice hitches and cracks. 

You watch him. This crying mess isn’t like the boy you fucked in your car.  You wanted him because he was sweet.  Because he was innocent.  Because you liked him.

You’ve never fucked anyone to hurt them before.  You’ve never been hurt like this.  No one carved their name into your skin or bit your lip until you bled. No one tied you to a wall and held a knife to your genitals.  You were never fucked in a way that didn’t feel good.  Even when you were uncertain, even when you were young, at least the sex was humane.  You were initially hesitant to admit it, ashamed, but you like having sex. Sex feels good. It makes you feel wanted, attractive, valuable.  You don’t resist it anymore.  You don’t care enough to feel ashamed about it.  You don’t care about other people and their opinions and their judgment. You don’t care. You don’t trust anyone. No one can hurt you. You don’t care.

But he hurt you. And you care.  You care that he told Meenah your secrets. He betrayed you. Why would he—

You pause. Because _you_ hurt _him_. You knew you were hurting him. You knew exactly what you were doing. You were making him into a monster.  You knew you were. You hurt him, and he hurt you. Evil breeds evil. This is...your fault. You corrupted him. This is _your_ fault.

You lower your knife. He doesn’t relax. His breath doesn’t come any easier. Meenah was right. Meenah was right about you.

Your heartbeat isn’t sounding in your ears anymore.  Only Tavros crying, the sound of a party, and the slow drip of blood onto tile. You feel heavy. Cold.  Empty.  You sigh.  Leaning forward, you gently brush your fingers against Tavros’s cheek and wipe away some of his hot, frightened tears.  You kiss him, gently, like you used to kiss Rufioh.  No fiery passion or want or need.  Just the reassuring pressure of lips pressing against lips.

You were always becoming what they wanted you to be.  They wanted you to be obedient, quiet, and good, and that’s what you were. They wanted you to break, to turn into a sneering monster, and you did.  You thought you were giving them what they wanted, what they deserved. In the end, you became so twisted you don’t know what you’ve become.  You don’t know what you are.  You don’t know what you want to be.  You only know that you’re in pain.  Everything about you is in pain.  To the core of your soul.  You just want it to stop.  You just want to stop hurting so much all the time.  And hurting someone else...doesn’t help. Hurting someone else doesn’t help.

You lift the knife and cut through the zip tie binding Tavros’s wrists together.  His arms fall to his sides.  He’s too shaken to push you away.  He just leans away from you and curls his arms into himself, and you let him.  You stand up and slip out of the bathroom door.  From across the room, your eyes meet Meenah’s.


	13. Carry on

There’s blood on her shirt. Even through the darkness and flashing lights in the living room, you can see the lines and flecks of red on her white blouse.  God, you’re pissed. You should’ve known something like this would happen, the way she beat on you when you confronted her. She wasn’t guilty. She was mad.  You made everything worse.

But the room is packed with people.  Most of them have no idea what’s going on, and you want to keep it that way.  You’re tight with anger, but you can’t just plow through the room and sock Damara in the jaw, as much as you want to. At any other time, you would. You hate that this whole deal has you constantly fighting against your first impulses.  It’s really stabbing a hole in your boat.

“Ampora.  Go to the bathroom,” you say.  He doesn’t say a word, thankfully.  You’re pretty close to socking him in the jaw, too. He just nods and follows orders. Damara stands in front of the door, watching him approach until he’s nearly there.  Only when he begins to hesitate does she move out of the way for him, and with a glance in your direction, she takes off for some other part of the house.  You don’t let her out of your sight.

She’s heading to the game room.  You’re about to slip in after her when someone gets in your way.

“Okay, I’ve really had it with this bullshit.  What is going _on_ with you and Tavros and Damara?” Vriska Serket says, getting in your face.  God _damn_ you are not interested in dealing with this right now.  You scowl and move to sidestep around her, but Terezi and Aradia pop out of the woodwork and get up in your grill as well.

“Y’all need to get outta my face _pronto_ ,” you say. “I ain’t fucking around about this.”

“Why, so you can go beat the shit out of Damara again?” Vriska asks.

“Yeah, pretty much!” you snap. “No offense, mini Megido.”

“None taken. She can hold her own. We’re concerned about Tavros,” she replies with a shrug. 

“We don’t care if you beat up Damara,” Terezi says.  “But we _do_ care that you’re beating her up because something’s up with Tavros.  Club is a drag when he skips all the time.”

“Look, not that it’s any of my business, because it’s been a long time since we’ve dated, but if you and Damara are stressing Tavros out with some kind of weird love triangle centering around him or whatever, you need to stop,” Vriska says, crossing her arms. “He has his charms, but he’s not _that_ great.”

“What is with all these _crack theories_?” you ask. “I got no hankerings for Nitram’s dick.  He’s like twelve!”

“Karkat’s the same age, but you were all about him not that long ago,” Terezi comments.

You let out a low growl of frustration.  “I ain’t got time for this shit!  Mind your own business and quit spreading rumors.”

“Not until you quit being cagey as fuck and let us in on the big secret!” Vriska snaps back. She’s not going to stand down. None of them are. This would just _have_ to happen right now, wouldn’t it?  You’re already steaming, and now irritation is heating you up on top of that.  You might just have to punch Vriska Serket.  That would be unfortunate, but damn are you close.

“What’s going on?” Aranea asks, appearing at your side.  You’ve just now noticed that there are people eyeing this little confrontation. She must have caught word. A sudden spark of inspiration strikes you, and you glance towards the kitchen, where Rose Lalonde is still hovering by the door.  You catch her eye and pull a face.  To your relief, she starts over to you.

“We’re sick of being kept in the dark about drama involving close friends,” Vriska says, addressing Aranea. “Even you’ve noticed how weird things have gotten lately, right?”

Aranea glances at you. “Is this about what I think it’s about?” she asks.

“Now you see why this is a problem?” you ask, gesturing angrily at the group blocking your path. “You see why we been tryin’ to avoid this shit?  I got ass to kick and I can’t even get through the fuckin’ door.”

“What seems to be the problem here?” Rose asks, finally joining the party.

“Mind your own business, Lalonde,” Vriska says.

“Follow your own advice, chump,” you shoot back.

“Should I get Eridan?” Rose asks, looking specifically at Vriska.  “He’s the host.  Maybe he could play mediator for you.”

Vriska groans. “Don’t.  He’s the last person I want to deal with right now.”

“Are you sure? There really is no other recourse. It’s exceptionally tacky to create conflict at another person’s party.”

Rose smiles slightly, and Vriska glares at her.  You think for a moment that it might work.  You’ll have to make it up to Lalonde later.  But Terezi taps on her walking can and says, “She knows something.”

Your face falls. Vriska glances at Terezi and back to Rose.  Her expression hardens. “Spill it, Lalonde.”

“I have no idea what you could possibly mean,” Rose says without batting an eye.

“Wait...does she?” Aranea asks, looking at you.  “You told her but not me?”

“Ugh!” you groan, smacking yourself in the face.

 

You slip into the bathroom, trying to be as discreet as possible, and lock the door behind you. You don’t really want to turn around.  You can hear him sniffling.  You noticed the blood on Damara’s shirt.  This is so far out of your comfort zone you don’t even want to _think_ about it, and the alcohol in your system is making everything worse. You feel so shitty, and you don’t want to feel any shittier.  But that’s your cross to bear, isn’t it?  You’re the bodyguard.  You’re the friend.

You take a deep breath and look over your shoulder.  His wheelchair is against the back wall, and his shirt is on the floor. He’s in the shower, naked as the day he was born.  Blood’s dribbling down his chin and beading along lines crossing his chest, and there are two deep gashes in his leg, bleeding steadily into a pool beneath him. Dark bruises are already forming on his neck and shoulders.  He has his hands in his lap, covering himself, and even the back of his wrists are bloody.  Much bloodier than last time.

You just stand there, gawking like an idiot.  This...this is what you imagined a rape would look like.  You can’t even deny it this time.  Yeah, sure, the first time you had your doubts, because _come on_.  How traumatic could garden variety sex with an attractive woman really _be_? But _this_ —this is violent.  This is _scary_.  You’re getting chills.  Your stomach is growing upset.  You might just have to vomit if you keep thinking about it.

And where were you? Pouring yourself a beer? Wasn’t it your _job_ to keep this from happening?  You said everything was going to be okay.

You shake your head. You can’t be held responsible for this, right?  No, definitely not. Damara’s _crazy_ , after all.  You’re no fighter.  If she wanted this to happen, what could you have done?  Nothing, probably.  Party or no party, beer or no beer, this would’ve probably happened at some point in time regardless of your diligence.  This is in no way your fault.  You can’t be held responsible.

But he’s still on the floor of your shower, crying.  Oh god, you really are going to be sick.

You swallow the bile and take a step forward.  Where was the first aid kit again?  Should you go get it?  But what if someone comes into the bathroom while you’re gone and finds him here?  Would a towel work okay?  Yeah...a towel would be fine.  You turn and extract a towel from the small closet near the door, trying to ignore your shaky hands.  You have a towel.  You can be useful now.

“Hey, kid...” you say, slowly approaching the shower.  He doesn’t look up at you.  Fuck. Shit.  You have no idea what to do.  You lick your lips.  “I have a towel, so...just hang in there for a second.”

You pause outside the shower. Deep breaths.  You’re getting lightheaded.  Fuck.

You gather yourself together and take a step into the shower.  You need to stop the bleeding from his leg.  And maybe you can cover him up while you’re at it. That’d make him feel better, right?  He’s probably self-conscious.  That’s probably why he’s not answering you.  He always was a self-conscious kid.  Had that thing with his confidence.  Ha.  Yeah, that’s just like him, all right.

You kneel down and lay the towel over his lap, glancing at the gashes before you cover them up. You can’t tell how serious the wounds are.  How deep is too deep? Will he need medical attention? Maybe Meenah knows how to put together some homemade stitches.  You’re getting lightheaded again, so you cover it up and press down. You expect the kid to react to the pressure, but he doesn’t.  Probably because he’s paralyzed, you remind yourself.  Duh.

Ah, shit, the blood is soaking through.  You exhale. “Hey, kid, I know this is...hard, but I need you to put pressure on this while I go get another towel,” you say, and you make the mistake of glancing at his face.  His glossy eyes stare down at his lap with such muted distress you think your soul might just shrivel up and die. All of your internal organs drop to the bottom of your abdomen.  You feel the damning pressure in your nose and the sting in your eyes that tell you you’re about to cry.  “Hey, c’mon, kid,” you say, reaching out and wiping some of his tears away with your thumb.  “It’s not...that bad.” He closes his eyes. His lip quivers. More hot tears spill over and slide down onto your thumb.  Fuck.

You scoot forward and pull him to you, pressing his head against your shoulder and wrapping him in your arms.  “Shh...” you say, because you’re choking on your own emotions too much to say anything else. You have _never_ felt this horrible.  Ever.  You know you should be putting pressure on his bleeding leg or at least wiping some of the other blood away before you smear it all over your own clothes, but you just want to hug him.  You stroke his hair, rub his back.  “I’m here now, okay?” you say.  “It’s okay now. I’m here now.”

He reaches up and grabs your shirt, pulling himself closer to you and burying his face against your shoulder. You feel him shudder, and he draws in a shaky breath.  You hold him while he sobs.  “Shh,” you say, rocking him gently.  “I’m here to protect you now.  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Rufioh,” you say. He glances up from the pool table and, catching your eye, takes a step back.  He knows you don’t like billiards.

“Hey, doll...didn’t know you would be here...you want me to get you a drink?” he says.  Horuss glances over from the mini bar. You can’t talk here.

“来い. 噺がある.” [“Come.  We need to talk.”]

“...Now?” he asks, shooting Horuss a look.

“重要だ,” you say. [“It’s important.”]

He hesitates, examining your face, but gives in with a sigh.  “Okay, doll...if you say so...but I’m not going anywhere weird, okay? We’re staying here.”

You nod and gesture to the patio doors that lead to the Ampora’s spacious lawn.  He follows you out, cautiously, since he seems to sense your disquiet.  After your display, you’re not surprised.  You stay within sight of the house.  Somewhere he can look inside and see his home wrecker boyfriend.

“So...what’s this about?” he asks with an uncertain smile.  You don’t answer immediately.  You don’t know how to.  You feel empty. His smile begins to slip. “Damara?  Is everything...okay...?”

“Dr. Scratchの噺覚えるの?” you ask.  He grimaces.  [“Do you remember the talk about Dr. Scratch?”]

“Damara, I’m not sure this is the best place to talk about that...we’re at a party, you know? That’s some pretty heavy shit...can we talk about it later?”

“いいえ. 今. この会話は今すごく重大です.” [“No.  Now.  This conversation is very important right now.”]

“Why...?  Did something happen?”

He’s concerned. About you.  He thinks this is about you.  A cold, heavy feeling grows in you, but you deserve it. You are resigned. “そう,” you say. “何か起こった. 何か悪い事.” [“Yes.  Something happened.  Something bad.”]

“Oh, shit...damn, I thought that whole thing was over!  We can sit down if you want...or I can drive you home...why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He takes a step towards you, as though he’s going to place a hand on your shoulder.  A nice, comforting gesture.  You don’t understand why he would still care. You sigh.

“私はあの人と同じです,” you say.  You don’t move from him, even though you should.  You almost wish he would touch you.  He doesn’t.  He pauses, confused. [“I’m the same as that person.”]

“What do you mean...?” he asks. His brow is knitted, but he’s still concerned.  You drop your eyes to the ground.

“私はひどい人になりました. 怪物になりました. ごめんなさい.” You bow.  It’s not a formal enough apology.  You should be on your knees with your forehead in the dirt.  [“I’ve become a cruel person.  I’ve become a monster.  I’m sorry.”]

“Is this...is this about all the stuff that went down before?” he asks.  He releases an uncertain laugh.  “This is kinda a weird way to bring it up, isn’t it? And a weird time, too...do you have something on your mind?”

You stare at the ground. “あなたの弟...” you say.  “傷つけた.”  [“Your brother...I hurt him.”]

A moment of silence passes. “You...what?”

“Tavrosを傷つけた,” you repeat.  [“I hurt Tavros.”]

“What...did you do?” You can hear dread creep into his voice. 

“ごめんなさい,” you say.  “トイレにいる.  連れて行こうか?”  [“I’m sorry.  He’s in the bathroom. Do you want me to take you there?”]

You finally glance up at him. Anxiety marks his expression. He nods.  “Yeah...yeah, let’s go.”

You wonder if he’ll finally hate you now.

 

Everyone is squabbling around you.  Rose Lalonde is purposely antagonizing both of the Serkets, and everyone else is just about as done as you are.  You finally just push Vriska and Terezi out of the way and charge into the game room. Damara is nowhere in sight.

“Yo, where’d D. Meg go?” you ask, looking around.

“She went outside with Rufioh,” Horuss answers, pointing out the patio doors.  You stomp over and take a look, ignoring the chorus of complaining idiots following you into the room.  Damara’s leading Rufioh through another set of patio doors on the other side of the house.  Just fuckin’ great.

“Okay, coming back through. Everyone, _move_ ,” you say, plowing past Aradia.  You turn the corner in time to see Rufioh and Damara slip into the bathroom.  All the alarms go off in your head, and you don’t bother trying to skirt around anyone on your way over.

 

“There, that’s a little better,” you say, helping Tavros back into his chair.  He nods.  He’s got some boxers on, at least.  His jeans wouldn’t fit over the towel you’ve wrapped around his thigh. You wet a washcloth in the sink and walk over to wipe the blood from his cuts.  Damara did a number on his wrists.  Or rather, Tavros did.  The skin around the lips of the cuts is pulled back and rubbed raw, the way a lot of hard struggling would cause.  You don’t even want to think about it.  You just clean it and hope it doesn’t scar.

You jump when someone knocks at the door.  “Don’t come in,” you call over your shoulder.  There’s barely a pause before the knock comes again, more insistently. You roll your eyes. There are like four bathrooms in your house, so there’s no reason for anyone to harp on you. “Busy!” you call.

The knocking stops. Above the music, you hear, “Hey, Cronus?  It’s Rufioh...is Tavros in there?”

You freeze. You and Tavros exchange a look. “What...do you want me to do, champ?” you ask.

“Uh...” he says, which is the first almost-word you’ve gotten out of him since you both hugged it out. Rufioh knocks again.

“Hey, Damara’s been saying some crazy shit...I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me in...” he says. Shit.

Tavros looks at you, clearly processing some very hard thoughts.  “I can cover for you, champ,” you say.  “Probably.”

He takes in a big gulp of air. “If Damara said something...I don’t think there’s any choice left, but to let him in,” he says. You were afraid he would say that. But you nod and head towards the door.

You open it enough to let Rufioh squeeze in, and to your absolute horror, Damara slips in after him. You almost have a literal heart attack.  You’re thinking of the best way to respond—do you stare at her dumbly? do you shove her back out?—and she closes the door for you, locking it.  You almost forget about Rufioh until you hear a very small gasp.

“What happened...?” he asks. Tavros’s eyes dart from him to Damara to you, but he doesn’t say anything.  Emotions fly across his face, one of which you can safely identify as shame.  Fuck. And...oh, shit, there’s still a bunch of blood in the shower. _Fuck_.  This is the _worst thing_ that could have happened.  You don’t know if Rufioh notices the blood, but he goes over to Tavros and kneels, taking in his cuts and bruises.  Tavros lowers his head, letting him take his hand and examine the back of his wrists.  You hope blood isn’t already soaking through the towel around his leg. Rufioh looks over his shoulder at you and Damara.  “What happened?” he repeats.

“...Well...” you say, trying to think of something to say.  But you got nothing.  The cat is out of the bag.

“私のせいだ,” Damara says.  Rufioh’s eyes flash to hers, and everything melts from his expression except for distress and dismay. [“It’s my fault.”]

“What did you do?” he asks. Before anyone can say anything, someone else knocks on the door, hard enough to make everyone jump, including Damara.

“Cronus, open this fucking door!” Meenah shouts.  Damn, is she trying to let the whole party know what’s happening?  You grab the knob and hastily let her in. She slips through the crack and immediately decks Damara in the face.

“Whoa, hey...” Rufioh says, standing up.  Meenah’s eyes flash to his, and she turns to glare at you.  She is _pissed_.

“Why is _Rufioh_ in here?” she hisses as though she’s being anything close to secretive.  You hold your hands up and take a step back.

“Things have gotten out of hand...” you say, and they have.  Things are _way_ out of hand. Meenah lets out a noise that almost sounds like some sort of feral growl and turns to kick your bathroom trash can.  You can almost understand the feeling.  Almost. You never get the urge to kick things like that.

“Okay...I really think I have the right to know what’s going on...” Rufioh says, watching the scene unfold with all sorts of trepidation on his face.  “I knew something was up, but...damn, this shit is starting to make me nervous...”

“You want to know what’s up?” Meenah asks, turning to him.  She points to Damara.  “Ask _her_.”

Rufioh’s eyes flash to Damara’s.  Meenah got a pretty good hit in.  Damara’s lip is split.  She looks Rufioh straight in the eye and says, “私たちはセックスした.”  [“We had sex.”]

‘Sekkusu’...sounds like sex? Which would be almost right. Rufioh’s eyes widen with shock. “What...you mean just now?” he asks.

“いいえ. あなたの試合の間. そしてその来週の月曜日.” [“No.  During your game.  And the Monday of the next week.”]

You can’t understand what she said, but Rufioh can.  He looks confused.  “Wait...you mean all that time ago?” he asks.

“そう.” [“Yes.”]

“But what’s that have to do with this...?”  He gestures weakly to Tavros, who’s still staring down into his lap.

“これは...ね.  かれはMeenahにDr. Scratchのことに言って私は怒ったんです.”  [“This is...hmm.  He told Meenah about Dr. Scratch, and I got angry.”]

“I...don’t understand the connection, doll.”

“長い噺だから.” [“Because it’s a long story.”]

Rufioh’s brow is furrowed, like he doesn’t understand.  You don’t either, but he at least speaks Japanese.  The fact that you can’t understand what she’s saying is rather unsettling.  She could be giving him any number of excuses.  Meenah seems to be thinking the same thing.  She clears her throat.  “The bitch raped him,” she says.  “Did she admit to that yet, or was she still getting around to it?”

A heavy silence falls. You notice Tavros close his eyes. By the look on Rufioh’s face, Damara hadn’t gotten around to it.  He gapes at Meenah and then at Damara.  “Is that...true?”

“レイプって...色々な意味があるね.  前回はレイプかレイプじゃないかわかりにくいだけど...今回はちょっとレイプらしいだろうね.” [“Rape...has a lot of definitions. The first times, it’s hard to say whether it was or was not rape, but...this time does seem a little rape-like.”]

“What do you mean, ‘rape- _like_ ’?” Rufioh asks, growing uncharacteristically emphatic.  “Damara, is Meenah telling the truth, or isn’t she?”

“Why are you asking _her_?” Meenah asks, butting in. “She’s fucking insane. Ask _him_.”

She points to Tavros, and he seems to sink into his chair.  Rufioh turns and looks at him, taking in his posture.  He seems so much smaller than normal. God, you don’t want to watch Rufioh ask Tavros about this.  He doesn’t even talk to _you_ about it, and you already know it happened.  This conversation is going to be nothing but a huge emotional train wreck.

Rufioh slowly kneels in front of Tavros and takes one of his hands.  Tavros continues to stare down into his lap and avoid eye contact. If you were Rufioh, that would be answer enough for you.  It’s not even that hard to believe.  But he leans forward a little and says, “Tav...?”

“...Mm?” Tavros answers, which honestly surprises you.  Again, maybe because you’re biased with all the knowledge you have, that would be enough confirmation to convince a jury as far as you’re concerned. But Rufioh brushes his thumbs gently over Tavros’s knuckles and presses on.

“Hey, kiddo...you wanna tell me what happened?”

After a second of hesitation, Tavros opens his mouth, but all he does is inhale.  He shakes his head.  A tiny little tear falls off his eyelashes.  Rufioh studies his face for a moment and looks over his shoulder at Damara, betrayal etched into his every feature. Damara shifts. You wonder what she’s thinking. Does she regret it? Because she should.

“Hey,” Rufioh says, turning back to Tavros.  He reaches up and cups his cheek, wiping tears out of his eyes almost the same way you did. “Hey, it’s okay...you don’t have to cry...you’re my little lost boy, remember?  And I’m your Pan.  We stick together.  You can tell me anything, Tav...okay?”

Slowly, Tavros nods, and he actually reaches up to wipe his own tears.  “It’s been really hard,” he finally says, his words catching.  He inhales. “I’m just really, really tired.”

Rufioh nods and stands up. “I’m going to take him home,” he says, turning to the rest of you.  He looks at Damara.  “Dam, I...I can’t forgive you for doing this.  This isn’t cool.”

“わかった,” she says.  To your surprise, she bows.  “それでも、私は本当にごめんなさい.  私の間違いがよくわかります.”  [“I understand.  Even so, I’m very sorry.  I understand my mistake very well.”]

“We’ll go make a distraction so ya’ll can skip out in peace,” Meenah says, looking at you. By ‘we,’ she probably means ‘Cronus,’ but that’s fine.  You have something in mind.

“You’ll have to help me out,” you say to Meenah.  You open the door a crack, and the sound of the party floods the bathroom. You glance back at Tavros. “Hey, champ, text me when you’re up to it.”  You’re relieved to see him nod.

 

Cronus leads you to the side of the room and picks up a remote off a table.  He lowers the volume of the music blaring over the home sound system.  “Attention!” he shouts, and when nobody seems to pay him any attention, you suck in a lungful of air and yell, “HEY!”

That works. He shoots you a look and cups his hands around his mouth.  “We’re going to shoot off the fireworks!  Let’s move the party outside!” he shouts into the room.  A number of appreciative whoops respond to the news, and people slowly begin to filter outside.

“Fireworks?” you ask. “What’d you need _my_ help for?”

“ _Obviously_ to help shoot them off.  We’ll need a good show to keep everyone interested,” he says.  You roll your eyes. The last few people shuffle out the patio doors, and you’re getting ready to follow when Cronus grabs onto your arm.  “Meenah,” he says. You pause.  He’s got a strangely serious look on his face.

“What,” you say.

He drops his hand and presses his fingertips together in an almost nervous gesture.  You raise an eyebrow.  “Look, I can understand if you want to call off our deal now,” he says, and your second eyebrow flies up to join the first.  He hangs his head.  “You were right.  This was a terrible idea, and I’m a terrible person.  I let the only person who can stand my presence for more than an hour down, and that was literally the only thing I was supposed to be doing. And I get that _maybe_ it’s a bit tacky to turn this whole situation into a way to force you into a prom date with me, which, now that I’ve had to survive this ordeal, seems a little vulgar, even to me.  So.  I guess it’s your call.”

“Oh,” you say. “Great.  Good luck finding another date, then.”

“Wait!” he says, grabbing onto you again as you turn away.

“ _What_?”

“Okay...maybe that wasn’t _exactly_ what I meant to say,” he says, and you’re not surprised to find he’s pouting a little. You groan.  “Hear me out.  How about...okay.  This is me, officially asking you to be my prom date, without any strings attached, _including_ no dance if you don’t want to dance, entirely on your terms.  I know you normally skip prom, but this is your last year to go and...well, maybe we can make a night of it.”

His eyes are practically begging you to consider his offer.  You could just rip the rug right out from under him, but...hell. Everyone already thinks the two of you are already going to prom together, and it would be suspicious to stop _now_.  And you guess you can appreciate that he actually managed to learn something tonight, even if he fucked up in every conceivable way. You roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you say, and he perks up so fast you can almost see the light of hope glowing from his face. You grimace.  “Calm down, fishbait.  It’s only prom.”

“Right.  No big deal.  Only prom,” he says, but his grin says otherwise. You sigh.

“Are we going to set off these fireworks or not?”

 

Rufioh falls asleep next to you because you asked him to.  It’s been a long time since the two of you shared a bed.  Since before your accident, you think. You guess you should be glad for your accident now, in some weird way.  The cut in your leg looks like it would’ve hurt. You try not to think about the knife slicing into your skin.  The blade against your—you try not to think about it.

Rufioh cleaned up your cuts and patched you up the best he could, but so much of you still hurts. You can’t stop tearing up. You try not to make enough noise to wake Rufioh up, but sometimes a sob catches in your throat. The tears burn your eyes. You just need to make it through the night.  And then the day. And then the next night.

You’re not a stranger to this, though.  Sudden attacks of panic or heavy walls of helplessness pressing down on you.  Memories rising up from the depths of your mind when you don’t expect them to, taking over for a brief second so that you feel like it’s all happening over again.  The heat of shame, the cold of resignation.  It’s not anything new.  You hate it, but you know you can make it through it.  Just last week, you were starting to feel normal. That’s obviously ruined, but you can do it again.  You just don’t know how or when, and the idea of carrying on until it happens is so terrible it makes you start to cry again.

You remind yourself, watching the stars outside your window, that some guy was able to imagine a fantasy place in a twinkling star above dreary London, where little children could escape from reality and live without the crushing fears that plague adulthood. That’s something. There’s always a glint of hope, even if it’s just the second star to the right.  Even if it’s just in your mind, a happy thought to help buoy you above the gray.  It doesn’t always work, but that’s why you asked Rufioh to sleep next to you tonight. You’re not alone. You’re safe now. When you can’t convince yourself in your mind, you can just reach out and touch Rufioh.  He’s solid and real.  And he says you’re going to be okay someday.

You’re going to be okay someday.  Maybe not as okay as you were before, but you already struggled through that realization after your accident.  And you made it through that, too.  Now that you were able to tell Rufioh, you feel at least a little less wound up and heavy with negativity, and maybe Damara will leave you alone now that it’s all come out, too.  Even though, at this moment, you hurt to the core of your soul, and you’re afraid, and you’re ashamed of everything that happened, you know from experience that everything fades with time.  You’re going to be okay someday.  You’re going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a wild ride. A pretty heavy fic, but I hope it ends on enough of a bittersweet note to make it worth it. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


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